


Mercy Mirror

by bastilas



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blind Character, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Kylo Takes an Accidental Tour Through Hux's Mind, Kylo is Bad at Feelings, Loss of Eyesight, M/M, Non-Consensual Mind Reading, Not a Whump fic, Original Character/Armitage Hux (past), Past Abuse, Post TLJ, This Started Mean but Got Kinda Soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21797848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastilas/pseuds/bastilas
Summary: When Hux loses his eyesight possibly forever, pieces of the past are dragged into the light along the way.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 84
Kudos: 545





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There we go, finished this just before TROS!
> 
> This is the direct result of planning to write 2000 words and then letting my brain run wild with no solid plan written down. (I'm never doing it again, it's hell, absolute HELL). I legit had a mental breakdown editing this, I hate it!!! Tbh I'm very unhappy with it and no matter what new ideas/edits I made to this, nothing made me feel better about it. But I thought, maybe that's a me-problem, and someone else might like this???
> 
> So here we are

Ashes, scattered and floating in the air like slow-falling rain. And smoke - acrid. _Choking_. Burning in his throat and his lungs and his nostrils. He hears screaming, but it bleeds into the ringing within his head, so loud that a cry is ripped from him, leaving him clawing at his ears to check for tangible damage he won't find. Blanket darkness covers everything, black in its complete swath. Not a single object is visible when he forces his eyes open.

And stars, his eyes _sting_. From the initial explosion, or something else, he isn't sure, all he knows are the involuntary tears flooding his eyes and the roiling of his stomach. Shaking limbs manage to find purchase on a floor littered with broken and serrated metal, straightening out enough to land him in a kneeling position. Once upright, vertigo rams into his consciousness—

And someone touches his shoulder. Grasps onto it, like an anchor.

"General!" He hears, but it's drowned out as if he's six feet underwater.

"Hux!" The voice comes again. He wants to snarl, to reprimand them. His title is General, not simply _Hux_ , but his senses are silenced, muted, unable to help him regain purchase and take in the situation.

There'd been a rumbling, flash of heat, then nothing.

A bomb.

"Can you hear me? Yes, or no." The voice asks, timbre deep.

"Yes," he chokes out. His own voice magnified, a hundred decibels louder than it truly is to his own ears. Another stream of tears form. He blinks them away rapidly. "Why is it so dark?"

The hand still clutching his shoulder relaxes and lifts, leaving a warm spot behind in an already burning room.

"It's not dark."

His heart skips a beat.

"Hux, can you see the fire around you?"

His eyes are _open_. Stinging and filled with tears as they may be, they should be absorbing light and feeding information to his brain about his surroundings. Something as bright as fire can't just be interpreted as midnight-darkness. His unsteady hands reach watery eyes, gloved fingertips gently running over eyelids to confirm what's already known. His eyes are open. And he can't see.

Strong arms pull him into a standing position with muttered words he can't understand, fear or scream-pitched ringing blocking the words from comprehension. It's Ren. Nobody else would dare address him as anything but General nor touch him without expressed permission. If they were anywhere but a smoke-filled and blast-scored room, he'd tear away from the steady grip on his arms, but as it stands, Hux feels trapped behind a glass barrier, all senses ripped away. Helpless. Utterly reliant on Ren.

Without warning, Ren tugs his arm, as if telling him to walk, but without a visual clue, Hux may as well topple forward and fall off a cliff.

"I can't see," he states, voice almost too emotion-laden to belong to him.

There's a tugging at his arm again, but Hux stays as steady as possible for a man who's on the brink of throwing up the contents of his stomach and is unable to observe his surroundings or clearly discern sounds.

"Ren, I can't _see_."

He's short of breath. From smoke, pain, or panic. The hand on his arm doesn't move for a couple of seconds. As if it could restore sight, he blinks furiously, trying to blot out the tear-forming stinging sensation within, even when no light registers within his vision. Nothing changes. "My eyes— why can't I see?!"

There's a series of words from Ren he can't unscramble. He thinks he catches "explosion" and "have to go," and then gloved fingers are brushing over the short hairs at his temple, making his stomach lurch. Were he more capable of reacting properly, he'd of jumped away. He's not in the mood for Ren's force games, nor is this the time.

"What are you—" he tries to ask.

But thoughts that had been roiling like a storm fade into nothing but mist, slippery, like grasping at thin air, and something akin to the feeling of sleep falls over him. 

☆

A steady beeping is the first sensation to greet his conscience as he wakes. Under him is a springy bed — not his own, then — and sheets washed too many times over to be considered soft. Dim whirring comes from an air recycler above.

He shifts, propping himself up on elbows, only to still like a ship caught in a tractor beam.

There's an IV inserted into his arm.

There was a _bomb_ — and his vision—

He opens his eyes.

It isn't void-black that greets him this time. There's something above, creating a cool-toned, circular blur of sorts, and when he looks down, nothing in his line of vision sticks out. It's all a shifty grey. He can't make out what type of light he'd been looking at, what the room around him looks like, or the colour of the sheets covering him. It's just one big jumble of nothingness. His hands go to his eyes again; nothing is covering them. They aren't scratched nor are they burnt. There's no feeling of needles poking them, no horrible burning. No tears. They are as they've always been.

So why can't he see?

Sitting up in the bed, he notices the medics re-outfitted him in med-bay regulation shorts and a loose gown to match. His cheeks glow with the indignation of knowing someone re-dressed him, but shoves the thought to the side, unimportant as it is in the face of this new problem.

His eyebrows pull together as he pats for the side of the bed, grasping onto the edge when he finds it and swings his legs over. The IV tube pulls taut, tugging at the skin where it's inserted into. He breathes out harshly, slides off the bed, and stands. Reaching out searchingly, he tries to find the IV stand, and yanks on it when his hand meets cold metal. As much as he'd love to rip the damn thing out, he's well aware of the potential to cause a mess by doing so.

Whichever medic was left to look over him and fix the problem with his eyes hasn't done their job, and they'd better hope there's an explanation.

The door hisses open then shuts as someone walks in. Their steps are light and slow.

"Oh, General, you're awake."

"Yes, and I'd like to talk to the head medic immediately."

"That'd be me, sir," she says. Her voice is light and somewhat high pitched. Hux thinks he should recall her name. He's supposed to know the high ranking personnel on the ship, including the head medic, but he can't for the life of him remember who she is.

"Please sit, sir," she tells him when he doesn't say anything.

Reluctantly, Hux steps back, sitting back on the spring-laden bed. "I want to know why my eyes haven't been fixed."

"There was a chemical reaction from the bomb which released bastelt in the air, which is deadly to humans. Most within the blast radius died from the intake, but some, like you, escaped with some lingering effects. The Supreme Leader recovered you in time, otherwise, the effects might have been more adverse."

"It damaged my eyes," he concludes. "But why hasn't it been _fixed_?"

Other questions linger as well.

Such as Ren bringing him in. He has this image in his mind; of his body, limp and unresponsive, carried in Ren's arms — a ridiculous picture that he dismisses immediately. More important is how a bomb passed through meticulous security during their meeting with the rulers of Onderon.

The medic clears her throat. "The bastelt damaged your retinas near completely. We've done some work — which I will test for in a moment — but some of your sight should be restored. Within the next month cycle or two, the damage may heal itself, but there's only so much we can restore."

Meaning — this could be _permanent_. A chill shoots down his spine, striking and paralyzing.

" _This_ is the most you're capable of doing?" he more states then asks, voice low. Dangerous. "I can't perceive anything more than the lighting around me."

"It's not about our capabilities," she has the audacity of correcting. "We brought back what you already can see. Any more healing is up to your body. We can do nothing more."

If he were able to be sure he's looking in the correct direction, he'd narrow his eyes, give the most scathing look of disapproval possible, the one that might as well say _your life is on the line, fix this immediately_. And he almost does. But as it stands — her name is unknown to him. Her stature, her hair colour, _anything_ , and without being able to discern her facial expressions or body language, threatening or intimidating her is not a smart calculation to make. _Measure your mark before you take a shot_ , Sloane would say.

Well. He can't do that anymore, can he?

_Useless_ , Brendol's voice echoes.

Squeezing his eyes closed, he takes another deep breath. "That's it? I wait months sitting around to see if my eyes will heal?"

"We can try replacing your eyes with bionic ones, but that also runs the risk of failure and your vision reverting back to total darkness. Or– we monitor you for signs of healing in the coming months."

Hux imagines himself with mechanical eyes, sockets lined in durasteel, eyes moving in a robotic, stiff manner, and thinks of the lingering looks he'd receive from officers behind his back. The whispers and distasteful looks he'd garner. If he thought his hold on his position as General was tenuous at best, disfigurement may as well rip command straight out of his hands.

"No." Forcing himself to exhale deeply, "You will spend your time researching ways to fix this. In the meantime, I'll wait for them to heal." _Possibly_. She never said it's certain his vision will return.

"Yes, General. Now if I may, there are some tests I need to perform."

Hux nods his assent, skin-crawling as a cool hand touches his arm and begins to work on withdrawing the I.V.

☆

No traces of bastelt remain in his system. It's almost a clean bill of health. Apparently his eardrums had been damaged as well but were healed easily enough, leaving him without an audible difference between his hearing prior to the bomb and after.

It's the greyish mess of his vision that's a problem.

When the medic — Bravane Hammon, he's learned — gave him the good to go, she first shoved a datapad into his hands, instructing him to run a finger over the screen. A mechanical male voice spat out a quick jumble of words, causing him to give a slight jump. It spoke the content of the screen aloud quickly and continued to do so as he touched other parts of the datapad.

That's how he'll be getting his work done, she explained.

Hux almost counts himself lucky. Most in the First Order wouldn't have bothered to teach him about the feature in the first place.

Sent back to his quarters with an assistive droid after her assessment, he's rootless. Not only is it impossible to determine where he's headed, but his steps are also fumbling and unsure, his entire body off-balance, almost equal to the disorienting feeling of imbibing one too many drinks. His only comfort is the solid grip he keeps on the cool metal arm of the K6 unit, which feels like a raft in an endless sea of nothing. Worst, though, are the steps and voices he can't put a rank or face to. For all he knows, Ren could've strode right past him and he'd never be able to tell. It's impossible to determine an identity from a set of footsteps, the only differentiation being clanking of stormtrooper armour versus the softer pounding from an officer's boots.

Hux wonders what they must think, seeing their General clutching onto the arm of a droid like a feeble child.

Thankfully, however, he encounters little traffic as they near the quarters of higher-ranking officers. There, the droid wordlessly helps Hux into his rooms, leaving with a few beeps, and the door hisses shut behind him. In the safety of his quarters, he leans his back against the door and sighs, closing his eyes and letting his shoulders slump.

"General Hux."

He jumps, eyes snapping open as he pushes off the door. Instinctively he searches for Ren, but with his eyes as they are, he can only make a calculated guess based on where his voice came from.

"Supreme Leader," He greets, re-mapping his face into a cold slate. "This is a surprise." _How did Ren get into his quarters, why was he waiting for Hux—_

"I told the medbay to alert me when you were released."

"Ah," he acknowledges. It's all he can say, as caught off-guard as he is. Without being able to see Ren's diary of a face expressing every feeling and motivation passing through his mind, it's impossible to determine where to go next.

"You can clearly hear me, this time."

"Yes, my hearing is back to normal."

"And your vision?"

Hux resists fidgeting with his fingers, a nervous habit of his, and takes a few slow steps forward instead of demurely standing in front of the door.

"Damaged," he states.

" _Damaged_ ," Ren repeats. "You needed the assistance of a protocol droid to escort you to your quarters. Just how _damaged_ is it, General?"

He grits his teeth then unclenches them, face surely turning pink at being forced to admit his own inability. "I'm... unable to see anything beyond a change in lighting." And even when it comes to lighting, it's unreliable, he doesn't say.

"So you're useless."

Hux almost flinches. Ren's statement rings true, and it cuts straight through that cold-slated exterior to the bone. He can hardly muster a defence. Not when he himself can offer nothing to convince Ren he can function without sight, not when his father's voice rings in his head, a ghost gone years absent and now reawakened in the face of weakness. _Pathetic_ , it calls him.

The heavy stomp of Ren's steps sound and Hux can almost feel his proximity. He expects to hear the snap-hiss of a lightsaber activating, to meet his end at the hands of a magic-wielding maniac, and desperation invades him.

"I—" He hesitates. "The medic said it'll heal in a month or two."

_Maybe, he leaves out._

A pause. Hux dares not breathe.

"Then for your sake, you'll continue to do your administrative work with the same diligence you always have, and you're barred from the bridge until further notice." Ren storms away, air displaced from his movements buffeting Hux's face. He keeps his shoulders square until the door shuts closes behind Ren.

And finally, Hux lets out a shaky breath.

☆

Once upon a time, Hux thought he knew his quarters as intimately as he knew the schematics of Starkiller. That belief came crumbling down as his search for his datapad became increasingly more frustrating. He'd tried his desk first, of which he bumped into the chair before fumbling through the surface and the drawers. Next was his bedside table — which also yielded no results. He advanced onto more and more obscure places, always hitting his foot on corners or bumping into furniture he should've known was there.

He felt like a freak walking around his quarters with his hands held out to feel for things, losing his balance every so often and almost tripping.

The final straw was when he went back to his bedroom, found the edge of his bed, and collapsed on it, only for his back to hit a hard square object.

He grits his teeth.

It'd been right in the open the entire time.

_Useless._

No. He won't just lie down and let this destroy him. He's never let anything or anyone else do so before, and he's certainly going to let it happen now.

Head medic Hammon showed him how to use his datapad with his other senses — touch and hearing. He can still get his work done. He unlocks the device easily enough, only mistyping his password wrong twice. But. She never told him how to activate the touch-to-voice feature. Without it, it's impossible to read the screen and know where to look. He even spends what he thinks is fifteen minutes trying to figure it out (as he can't see the chrono to measure time) and gives up. The great General of the First Order can engineer a weapon capable of harnessing a sun's energy, but he can't figure out to get his datapad to speak aloud.

Pathetic.

Irritation courses through his bones, his thoughts becoming increasingly more slippery, impossible to sort through, as he tries to solution his way out of this dilemma. He used his datapad every day, yet trying to remember where the settings widget is located only draws up blank darkness of information. He only remembers they're located on the first couple rows of applications.

If this is any indication as to what the rest of his life is going to be like, he doesn't want it. Surely the medical staff onboard will figure something out, because he can't just lose all his work, his rank, _everything_ , because of an unfortunate _accident_. He needs his sight more than anyone else aboard the _Finalizer_. More than anyone else in the fleet. He has plans to implement and the galaxy to take over. Those plans can't just end.

He has to remember where the settings are. They're in... the second row — he's fairly sure of this fact. Maybe closer to the left. He'd never used the application often, so he isn't sure, but it's worth a try. But then how is he to find the settings he requires inside the application? His heart begins racing at the thought and so he takes some measured breaths to keep himself under control. Panicking is a foolish reaction that will get him nowhere.

He brings a finger to the corner of the tablet and runs his finger down the side of the screen, estimating where the second row of the applications are located. He then hovers over to where he thinks the settings tab is and presses down sharply. There's no way to know if he's in the correct application, or if he hit anything at all, but he forces himself to press onward and not doubt himself.

The settings are listed in alphabetical order, he knows, but where would accessibility fall on the list? Above Applications, yes, but are there any other settings that start with 'A?' He doesn't think there is, so he presses at the top, still not knowing if he's in the correct application.

Now, even more complicated, is activating the voice option. The ability to switch that feature on lies to the right of the screen, but he has to essentially press at random in order for that to work.

He feels like a complete and utter fool randomly pressing at the screen, but there's no other option. His assistant droid was destroyed along with the _Supremacy_ and asking an officer or trooper is an indignity he refuses to go through.

When his random pressing of buttons yields no results, he finds himself breathing heavily. Finds that his eyes feel hot and watery. He repeats the process over and over, growing more and more aggressive in his tapping until finally, the datapad starts speaking aloud.

He sits back and almost laughs in relief, but the battle is only halfway over. It's been just under a week since he's been out, and he shivers to think about the number of messages, requests, and reports that will have accumulated in his absence.

With many mistakes and tries, he finally reaches the communications application and listens to the titles of the messages and who they're from, wanting to prioritize who to respond to first.

Only, he doesn't get far until he runs into an urgent alert addressed to high command.

He opens the message.

"From: Supreme Leader Kylo Ren. To: High Command. Subject: Urgent Personnel Notice.

"Due to the incident on Onderon, General Hux is currently incapacitated and is unable to attend to his duties fully. As such, I have named Milbin Vrieska as acting General for the First Order, while Hux will retain the rank of Lieutenant-General and will work on transferring his rank's duties. If there are questions, they're to be directed to General Vrieska."

Then there were no further words spoken aloud.

Hux finds himself sitting completely and utterly still, unable to process the news. He... he knew, deep down, that losing his vision would result in his rank being stripped. He knows the First Order places functionality above all else. And that's good. They should. Yet he feels cold. He feels like the floor has dropped out from underneath him.

Even worse than losing his rank is losing it to _him_. That fucking name runs through his head. _Milbin Vrieska._

Hux's blood turns into fire just at the thought of the man. He's a sycophant. A murderer. A blight upon the First Order. The worst possible candidate for the general of the entire fucking military. The man is incompetent, yet Ren chose him above anyone else.

Hux gives an enraged yell, whipping his datapad on the floor. He hears it crack as it clangs when it meets the durasteel floor, yet doesn't care. He's breathing heavily. He broke his datapad he just spent more than an hour configuring, and he doesn't _care_. He wants to do more than break his datapad. He wants to tear apart his bed, destroy his desk, anything to take away the acidic fury eating away at him. It's so intense it hurts. It needs a deterrent.

This kind of anger isn't him. It's immature — it's something an adolescent would feel.

But Vrieska is a figure of from his adolescence, so why _not_ act immature? What more does he stand to lose?

Lots, his rational brain answers.

In one last pitiful act, he grabs a pillow and chucks it off the bed, then slumps.

He should do something productive to take his mind off of this, then come back to the issue when he's regained his rationale and can act objectively. A shower, perhaps. It's been too long for his liking since the last one.

Though, he quickly finds even this task is not as easy as he thought it would be. Finding the products he wants is not simple — the bottles are all the same size and shape. The scent of the shampoo, conditioner, and soap is the only differentiating factor, and at one point he accidentally knocks them off a shelf trying to grab them, only adding to his frustration.

After the shower, it only gets worse. He cuts himself while shaving several times to the point where he almost gives up. He only finishes because he doesn't want half a beard upon his face. With his jaw stinging in multiple places, he walks back into his bedroom to retrieve the small medpack he keeps stored in his side table, only to step on the remains of his datapad while barefoot. The shards of glass hurt, and he can feel the blood springing forth from the cuts already.

The last straw is when he can't find the medpack.

He's never felt so fucking powerless before.

And it won't get better with time. He could very possibly be blind for the rest of his damned life. Issues like this will become the norm.

He slides down the wall near his bed and side table and just _sits._

☆

It's not the hissing of his door opening, nor heavy footsteps that rouse him from sleep, but rather, it's Ren's boot jabbing his laid out legs. It's gentle enough (for Ren). It's the impersonal nature of it that grates on Hux's already ripped open nerves, like Ren is above using a _glovedRen carrying his unconscious body to the medbay._

" _Get up_ ," Ren commands when Hux barely stirs.

He manages to get his hands on the cold durasteel floor to leverage himself up, hiding a grimace at finding his neck and shoulders painfully stiff. He'd fallen asleep on the floor, and only just now realizing the last time he'd done such a thing was when he'd hidden away under his bed from his father. He'd been _ten._

Already, Hux can feel his face turning pink. "What are you doing in my quarters?" He demands, hair limp and hanging in his face. He feels every part the useless invalid Ren thinks him. Worse are the cuts on his face untreated from his attempted shave. He then quickly becomes aware he is dressed in loose sleep pants and the black undershirt he put on after the shower.

"Have you lost your sense of deference along with your sight?"

"No," Hux says, then tacks on, "Supreme Leader."

Ren breathes out heavily, as he does when he attempts to reign in anger boiling under his destructive surface.

"Why have you not briefed General Vrieska or sent over your clearances? I made my orders clear."

If possible, his face burns brighter. How is he to tell Ren he took hours to figure out how to get his datapad to speak aloud, then had a breakdown that could almost rival Ren's drama? That can only add to Ren's belief of his uselessness.

"Vrieska is the wrong choice for General," he says instead.

"I didn't ask you to give your opinion, I told you to transfer your rank over," Ren seethes, stepping closer to Hux. Almost as if able to sense his proximity, Hux takes a step back.

Ren needs him, he reminds himself. It's why he isn't dead yet.

"Vrieska has no backbone. He'll do as he's told, he'll simper when needed and push those beneath him if he must, but he will not take initiative."

"Ah, as opposed to someone who ignores direct orders from their superior."

Tingles work their way up Hux's spine. He ignores the sensation.

"If you're going to find a..." _replacement,_ "substitute for me, at least find one that's competent. And not one you picked at random because you—"

His throat closes up, not enough to choke, but it's enough to stop the rest of the sentence from leaving his mouth. He'll never grow used to the disembodied sensation of what's essentially air closing in around him like hands encircling his neck - there's no weight to it, nor feeling or temperature. It's just pressure. Horrible, horrible pressure.

The bruises from the last time Ren choked him took weeks to fade.

This time it's just a light reprimand.

"I'll ask again. _Why_ haven't you transferred over your rank."

Taking a hand to his neck, Hux rubs over the soft skin there as if to relieve the lingering touch from Ren's force abilities.

"I... couldn't."

"You _couldn't_."

Hux wishes for his uniform and the padded protection its layers offer — for how donning it brings an air of dignity sleep clothes don't offer. Hell, even a robe would suffice. He feels naked and exposed in front of Ren, and answering his questions feels like peeling off the final layers, baring every inch of him for judgement.

"Do you want me to spell it out?" He asks tightly.

Ren makes no response — or at least, if he does, Hux cannot see it. Silence coming from a man such as Kylo Ren is not something to be ignored, however.

Face burning, he admits: "It took me hours to figure out how to use the datapad. I couldn't very well see how to activate the proper setting for my... situation."

"There's more. That's not how you ended up a mess, sleeping on the floor," Ren states. "In fact, I've never seen you in such a state."

Hux expects to feel sizzling anger, the word _mess_ running through his head, but it doesn't come. He's mostly just tired, body sore and drawn out, longing for rest and cover, to be spared the indignity of being caught unexpected for Ren's eyes to take in. Fear lingers, too, but it's an undercurrent, easily tamped away once Hux reassures himself Ren isn't here to murder him. It's always a bit confusing with Ren — one minute he's saving Hux; helping him up, carrying him, and the next, uttering threats and exerting pressure around his neck.

Again, Hux reminds himself he's alive because Ren needs him (now that he's finally come to see the reason Snoke 'kept him around'), and if he doesn't continue to be useful, Ren will discard him. Throw him away just as callously as the past he keeps running from.

"I'll figure out a way to transfer over everything. It may take me an entire cycle, but I'm working on it."

"I don't believe you," Ren says. "You're hiding something, I can sense it." Again, his heavy boots make soft thudding noises as he draws closer.

Ren is right, of course. But what Hux is hiding is not the assassination plot he's likely assuming. However—it holds the exact same importance a plot like that would. If Ren knew there's a chance Hux may never regain his sight, he'd be discarded and jettisoned out the airlock only moments after the revelation.

Warm, bare skin makes contact with his face and Hux recoils — more from the unexpected touch than because of who's hand it is. A calloused finger roams over the cut earned from the shaving razor and stubble as Hux holds his breath.

_Ren's going to invade his mind._

He can barely make a protest before Ren's fingers snake up to his temple and there's a pressure in his mind—the same one that ensnared his neck and pressed down, intangible and yet there all the same. And there's nothing Hux can do. No clawing at his head or protesting can stop this invisible onslaught; only Ren may do that. The very man who has done this to high profile prisoners dozens of times, possessing no regard for their pleas and screams.

And now his grip is sinking into Hux's brain, like claws digging in further and further, inciting pain the deeper they go. All too soon, Hux lets out an involuntary whimper, stumbling into the wall behind him.

But Ren holds him up with his other arm, not allowing Hux to collapse to the ground.

Hux resists, despite the blurry hot feeling in his eyes, and the ringing in his ears.

He won't succumb to Ren. He won't.

Ren's grip only tightens, and with a bit more squeezing, he'll shatter Hux's mind into a thousand pieces, as though it's made of delicate glass.

And Ren doesn't care. He pushes.

Then, Hux's mind _cracks._

He screams.

_____

_"Mommy, why don't I have a dad?" A boy asks. He is small, only coming up just past her bruised and knobby knees in height. He's pale, covered in freckles, and posses a shaggy head of brilliant red hair._

_The woman, her hair also red, smiles, but the type of smile that doesn't reach her eyes. The boy is too young to know the difference._

_"You do, Armie. But he's away doing very important things on big spaceships."_

_"So he'll come back? I can see him?" The boy asks, blue eyes widening, expression morphing into wonderment._

_"Maybe," she answers. But she isn't hopeful, or even sad. She's scared._

_-_

_It's the third day of the bombs creating teeth-rattling shakes, rupturing the very grounds of Arkanis. Dirt falls from the ceiling and narrowly misses the huddled forms beneath a kitchen table. The boy has managed to fall asleep in his mother's arms and is blissfully unaware of the tears running down her cheeks._

_-_

_There's a grip on the back of the boy's neck, the hand meaty and cold, so different from the warm graceful fingers of his mother, which so often carded through his hair and tucked him in at night. These fingers do not move, do not attempt to wipe tears away or sooth the pit of sadness growing in the boy._

_Armitage always thought he'd be thrilled to ride on a spaceship. But now that his mother isn't there at his side as they climb further and further into the atmosphere, away from Arkanis, where the bombing is still happening, where he was forced to leave his mother, he isn't so sure._

_-_

_Armitage shares his quarters with his father Brendol aboard the ship, the_ Imperialis. _He'd thought this happy news originally._

_But nights spent cowering under his bed in the blackness of night when heavy stomps of his father come from the common room have given a new perspective. He chokes back tears, wishing for the arms of his mother, of her lullabies and soothing words to make the hurt go away again._

_Instead, there's only a pit of fear and the stain of blue-black bruises upon his arm._

_-_

_For years, Armitage tries to meet his father's exacting standards._

_He never succeeds._

_-_

_Once, there was a boy._

_A boy Armitage caught himself staring at too much for it to be something to write off._

_He was blonde, his hair loose, curly, and long—flirting with being past regulation length. Sometimes he wore his uniform sleeves rolled up. Other days, he'd attend classes with rumpled jodhpurs. Never once did an instructor or officer berate him for the blatant flaunting of rules nor did they write him up. They never did because he rolled with their jokes, took interest in the assignments they doled out, and outperformed each and every other student in his classes._

_Except for mathematics._

_A subject Armitage excelled in._

_And sometimes, Evander, this boy, would catch Armitage staring and would smile in return._

_After a class one day, he stopped Armitage on the way out, inviting him back to his quarters to hang out while they studied for an upcoming exam together. And the thing was—Brendol had not raised a stupid nor manipulable boy. Armitage knew full well Evander only wanted one thing from every person he interacted with; their trust and power. People like him were predictable in that way._

_Yet, Armitage followed Evander back to his quarters anyway._

_It was effortless with him; Evander knew how to steer conversation and easily handled Armitage's stiff mannerisms and closed off personality, somehow digging past the exterior set up to fool other officers and his father from seeing the weak boy beneath. The thought of manipulation long gone from his mind, he helped the other seventeen-year-old eagerly, laughing along with his jokes and conversing freely._

_A friend, Armitage began to refer to him as within his mind. For the first time in his life, there was someone else he could confide in and chat with without restraint. Without pretending to be inhuman._

_But the semester was drawing to a close, meaning soon their need for studying mathematics grew closer to a close. And as such, Armitage's anxiety ramped up._

_Until two days before the final exam, a lull occurred in their conversation and they stared into each other's eyes for a second too long. Evander leaned in first, and his lips met with Armitage's. They were clumsy, unfocused and inexperienced, but full of so, so much want. And unchained, another world opened up to Armitage and he finally let himself free._

_Even better, Evander continued to see him after they both passed with perfect scores on their tests. The rejection or betrayal Armitage expected never came even when he kept expecting it. And that's when he knew they shared something special._

_-_

_When a cadet came of the age eighteen, they were sorted into the correct training for whatever their academic records showed their affinity for. Or, in some cases, children of officers were granted small shows of favour and allowed to pick which track of the military they wished to climb._

_Armitage's mathematics and sciences were at the top of his class — it was a no brainer he go on to the science division of the First Order. Only. Armitage was ambitious. He didn't_ just _want to engineer new weapons and ships for the Order — he wanted to command said ships and weapons. To be so high up and untouchable nobody may ever lay a finger on him again without their hand being taken in return._

_So he trained for both._

_Trained so relentlessly, there was hardly time to sleep._

_Evander was his only time spent away. He too was on track to becoming a full-fledged officer, and a damn good one at that. Their only solace from days where a death in training exercises wasn't strictly forbidden, nor rare, was lying in each other's arms at night, where nobody else could touch them._

_-_

_"Evandar is his name, isn't it?" Major Vrieska asks a tired Armitage, whose only reason for still standing on his own two feet is years of training. Of knowing that a single relaxed muscle meant a beating or berating in front of peers. They watch as Evander effortlessly eliminates another target that crops up in front of him in the training sim. He was always good at these types of exercises._

_"Yes, sir," Armitage replies, trying and failing to keep his lip from curling after the last word falls from his mouth._

_Vrieska is the overseer of their program. A man whose only useful talent seems to be saddling up to high command and picking out students who'll do the same — if only to give him the appearance of a man able to train any residual disobedience out of young men and women in the program._

_And Evander, always one to cozy up to instructors to gain an advantage, has been the subject of Vrieska's fancy for months._

_For that, Armitage despises Vrieska._

_"You two are close, are you not?"_

_Armitage clenches his jaw for a long moment. "Yes, sir."_

_"Hmm. Maybe one day his talents will brush off on you."_

_-_

_"And if the hyperdrive fails? What then?"_

_"Call for aid immediately, or if not feasible, head to the escape pods."_

_"Correct. And if—"_

_"That's wrong."_

_Vrieska's eyes snap to Armitage, who he'd purposely set as the only bridge technician in this theoretical battle simulation. A technician is as good as useless._

_"Cadet Hux, not only have you failed the exercise by interrupting a commanding officer in the middle of a battle, you've made a fool of yourself too. Are you suggesting we stay on the bridge, show our stomachs, and let the enemy capture us?"_

_"No, I'm suggesting we activate the auxiliary hyperdrive—which the Resurgent Class ships have the ability to do, and you'd know of such if you'd paid any attention to the briefing that occurred only days ago. But instead, you were too busy chatting. What I'm suggesting is that you should be demoted for gross incompetence, as we'd surely all of died in this simulation of yours."_

_At first, Armitage's tirade is met with silence. He looks to the Lieutenant-General presiding over the test and finds the man impassively staring at the back of Vrieska's head with furrowed eyebrows. Which. Bodes well._

_Vrieska, however, has turned red. "How dare you—"_

_Evander, the Lieutenant in Vrieska's little game, can't hold back a snort._

_And Vrieska explodes._

_"ENOUGH. I will not stand for this breach of conduct! Cadet Hux, report to reconditioning, immediately. You are to—"_

_"Major Vrieska!" The Lieutenant-General barks. "The boy has a point. He passes for that reason while the rest of your class is to redo this exercise another time. This simulation is over for the day, you're all dismissed. Vrieska, with me."_

_Vrieska did not turn to the Lieutenant-General while he spoke. He kept his eyes solely on Armitage, his face red but devoid of emotion. Only his cold hard eyes gave away even the faintest flicker of emotion. And then finally, he broke eye contact and followed the general's retreating form from the room._

_When Armitage finally tore his eyes from where Vrieska stood, he found his peers all looking his way, either wide-eyed or glaring, and there was no in-between._

_But Evandor's eyes. Those eyes were sparkling._

_-_

_Armitage wonders why Evander sticks around. As far as lovers or boyfriends go, he doesn't consider himself a good one. He's not nice. He's not selfless. Often times Evander has to be the one to prompt affection between them, or even sexual encounters. Sometimes Hux starts arguments between them for no reason at all save for pettiness._

_Sometimes Armitage comes back to their shared quarters after an argument to find them empty, with Evander gone to stay at a friend's for the night._

_Armitage thinks maybe Evander likes the power he affords them. It's his privilege as an officer's son that granted them shared private quarters, after all._

_But there is something between them. Something undeniably strong. Something that Armitage can feel when he wakes to see Evander smiling him in the morning, or when they laugh at their pier's failures from a test earlier that day. When Armitage wakes from nightmares and finds a body wrapped around him tightly._

_It's for that reason he never wants to let Evander go, no matter how flawed and strange their relationship can be._

_-_

_It all comes down to a dusty, desolate planet so unnoteworthy its name is simply a series of numbers._

_It's their final examination in officer training. Each cadet is to take command of a Stormtrooper unit on a First Order world where there's conflict. Armitage has already passed his test, the mission going off without a hitch or single casualty under his belt. One by one, in twenty to thirty-minute intervals, the rest of the students report back to their shuttle, which will take them back aboard the star destroyer once everyone has returned from testing._

_Cadets chat and laugh between each other, their voices tinged with joy and freedom that's usually absent. They're planning a party later that night where they'll imbibe an inordinate amount of alcohol and celebrate one last night of freedom before they enter into the rest of the military. Armitage would have joined them, for surely Evander wanted to join in on their pointless fun, but he's a bar exam for the engineering corps in only two days, and every second of his time has to be dedicated to that._

_Evander only wanted to celebrate with Armitage. They would spend the entire night in each other's company instead._

_Armitage's eyes swept the horizon again, the orange dirt of the desert reflected in his eyes. Any moment, a speeder will come back with another cadet._

_He tries to push back his annoyance when it isn't Evander._

_And after five more return, he suffocates the worry bubbling up within himself._

_They're waiting for two more officers and Vrieska to return. Vrieska will be last, of course, but Evander and a woman named Unamo should be back by now. Perhaps an unexpected complication? Difficulties with the speeder?_

_There's the humming of a speeder in the distance. Armitage's back straightens and he narrows his eyes, putting his hand over his head to shield his sight from the sun to get a better view._

_Only to notice the driver possessed black hair. He watches her the entire way and waits for her to disembark with the troops before he stands, walks down the gangway of the shuttle, and stops her._

_"Have you seen him?" He asks._

_She pauses in her steps, her eyes finding Armitage, and for a couple of seconds she is clueless before understanding takes over and her eyes soften. "No. Not since we all set out."_

_Armitage nods, stepping aside and allowing her to join the celebrating cadets. He stays outside, eyes returning back to the horizon._

_-_

_It's two hours later. There are long shadows cast and an orange glow reflecting off the shuttle. The students inside grow restless, annoyed. They only want to celebrate, not be stuck waiting on a stuffy, sweltering shuttle._

_Armitage has gone long past worrying. He's terrified. His heart beats in his chest rapidly, his foot taps on the durasteel floor constantly, creating a clangy echo and doubtlessly annoying his peers. He doesn't care._

_It's when there's a humming in the distance he swears his heart will pound out of his chest._

_And it's Vrieska._

_Only Vrieska._

_Armitage only knows a blinding fury, one that takes over his vision and seizes his rational mind. He'd thought reactions like this long trained out of him, but just seeing Vrieska's self-assured smile is enough for him to storm up to the speeder, prepared to grab his superior's collar, demanding to know where the only person who's never wanted anything from him, who's never hurt him, is._

_And then a glint of blonde hair, glowing gold in the sun, catches his eyes and Vrieska no longer matters. It's in that split second he realizes no stormtroopers have come back with them._

_That Evander hasn't sat up and begun smiling._

_That there's crimson and brown matted in his past-regulation golden hair._

_Armitage doesn't cry. Doesn't scream, nor break down. He just looks Vrieska in his-monstrous, greedy eyes, and withholds the rage of a burning sun that's about to turn into a supernova._

_One day, he'll wield the power to destroy planets. Entire systems. And Vrieska will be sorry he tore away Armitage's last anchor to humanity._

_-_

_A shuttle arrives carrying Ben Solo, son of famed Resistance heroes._

_Hux hates him on sight._

_He's everything Hux wished for as a boy. Someone well regarded, with a family who loved him, who cared if he died or not. Who enjoyed the wealth of the New Republic. Who could live life without wondering who was next to stab him in the back. He didn't have to work for anything._

_And he threw it all out to join the First Order._

_Hux supposes he should feel a measure of joy as a symbol of New Republic hope has fled them and burned their Jedi Academy down, but it's absent._

_Only resentment burns in his veins now._

_It is no matter, however. He can set his feelings aside, just as he has always learned to do._

_He greets Snoke's apprentice with cold-steel and military bearing and says no further words than necessary._

_-_

_Kylo Ren becomes his co-commander._

_Holding back bitter insults and anger is no longer such an easy task._

_-_

_"I do not see his worth, Supreme Leader," Kylo Ren says as Hux walks out of Snoke's throne room._

_Hux very nearly stops, wanting to turn around and yell at Ren. To tear into him so much worse than he did before Blysma set his creatures upon them. But Snoke is present, and Hux knows he'll receive physical admonition for daring to interrupt him._

_He'd thought... after Ren saved him, and Hux did the same for him, maybe there could be a modicum of understanding between them. That maybe Ren would finally see his use and respect him._

_But Ren is just like the rest of them. Just like Vrieska. Just like Brooks and Brendol._

_He thinks Hux useless and weak._

_Hux doesn't know why it makes something in his heart clench instead of igniting the all-consuming rage he's become familiar with. If there was to be a single shred of warmth he held in regard to Ren, it had been all but doused._

_☆_

Hux comes to with a snap. The humming of the ship's mechanics and Ren's sharp inhale are the first telling sign he's escaped that nightmare of events. But his body shakes violently and uncontrollably, tears are rolling down his cheeks (from the pain of having his mind torn asunder, not the humiliation of Ren witnessing every low point in his life, he convinces himself). It's as though his body is still trapped in those sequences of events in the past that he'd carefully tucked away into a durasteel vault, never to be remembered or able to affect him again.

"That– That wasn't supposed to happen," Ren stammers, voice uneven. Rattled, as Hux has only heard once before, in his fevered muttering during his rescue from the forest on Starkiller.

" _Get out,_ " Hux utters, teeth gritted, face too warm and soaked with shame. He's still shaking.

"Hux—"

" _GET. OUT!_ "

And to his surprise, there's a lapse of silence, then the hurried steps of Ren making an exit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My anxiety about this fic only amps up with every chapter I post lol
> 
> Anyway, thanks for the kind responses on chapter 1. They mean a lot to me <3

After Ren's brief but horrible visit, Hux's life devolves into a monotony of routines that involve answering Vrieska's condescending questions, sorting administrative duties of a general (that Vrieska should be doing), and continuing learning to adapt to having no eye-sight.

In this time, Hux dares not leave his quarters.

Maneuvering through his rooms has become easier with practice and, well, trial and error — one can only hit their foot on a piece of furniture so many times before they start to remember it every time they near it. Roaming the halls of the _Finalizer_ , however, would be a much different case. Bumbling through halls, aimless, unsure of where he's headed. He'd like to think he knows the way to the bridge by heart, but he'd thought that about his quarters too. Without a protocol droid to assist, Hux won't attempt it.

Which is unfortunate, as he's becoming stir-crazy. He's chained to the room by paranoia. By wondering how long it'll take for Ren to realize how weak and useless he is, then finally decide to discard him.

Most times, if he finishes up his duties in a timely manner, (of which he tries his best to, lest Ren pays him another visit), he spends his time sleeping. What else is he to do? He tried shaving again and only earned another cut upon his jaw.

Most other activities require eye-sight.

He raises his hand to his eyes, fingers gently running over the soft, pliable skin of his eyelid, brushing soft lashes there. It'd be easier if the skin surrounding his eyes was covered in mottled red and pink scars. If his eyes hurt. If the iris appeared damaged. If it was only _tangible_. Then maybe, _maybe_ , he'd give himself some take, not shedding angry tears each time it took an hour to figure out how to access a file or message he needed, something that would've previously taken minutes at most.

Maybe, he wouldn't have the start of a beard growing, maybe he'd bother to dress in a uniform. Maybe, he'd hold a schedule.

Maybe, he wouldn't be lying in bed touching his eyes like some spaced out, useless _freak_.

And that, of course, is how Ren finds him.

At the sound of his door opening, Hux bolts upwards, trying to style wayward locks into something that isn't a splayed-out disaster. His hair falls back into place as soon as those familiar boots make stomping noises as Ren treads across the room. Without his permission, Hux can feel his heartbeat speed up and anxiety creep into his veins. He's definitely begun to recognize the cadence of Ren's footsteps, of which he isn't sure is entirely a good thing. Each step closer strikes more fear into him. And he _hates_ it. He's never been scared of Ren before. Not like this.

What if Ren wants to break into his mind again? What if he wants Hux dead after the pitiful memories he bore witness to?

But accompanying those steps is something else — a smooth noise that doesn't have beats like steps do, like metal rolling upon the ground; an astromech droid.

Hux pats for the edge of the bed and swings his legs over the edge when he finds it, grateful he's dressed in his uniform for this instance of Ren's reoccurring un-announced intrusions into his quarters. Once upright, he looks to where he thinks Ren is standing.

"Is there something you require, Supreme Leader?" Hux asks — he doesn't dare forget the title now. For fear of his mind being violated again.

"I brought something for you."

Hux quirks an eyebrow. This is... not what he expected.

"This is a BB-11e droid. It's in your service now."

"And what am I to do with an astromech droid?" Hux questions. He doesn't want to antagonize Ren, but surely Ren knows Hux has no use for the thing.

"I had— there were modifications made to it so it can help you in simple everyday tasks. Vrieska reported you've been slow to respond. This is to free up your time."

"I am responding to his questions and requests in a perfectly _adequate_ length of time. If he has a problem, he should take it to me instead of running to the Supreme Leader like a child." Hux regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Antagonizing Ren and his apparently favoured General is not the smart move to make here.

"He says it takes you hours to respond," Ren deadpans.

Hux resists pointing out Ren sometimes takes days to respond. "Yes, well, typing out messages without sight is not an easy task. I have to check back for errors, and it's not simple to go back and correct said errors."

"Why don't you just use voice input to write your messages instead?"

"That... is a good idea," Hux concedes. "I hadn't been aware I could do that."

"Where's your datapad?"

"I left it on the desk."

There's a second of silence, then he can hear the datapad slide off the desk and fly into Ren's hands. He shoves it into Hux's arms, surprising him. "Unlock it," Ren commands.

Hux reluctantly unlocks the device and hands it back to Ren. He can hear Ren going through the applications to settings where he quickly finds accessibility and then hears him turn a feature on.

"There, now you can speak your messages to it. The feature is at the bottom of the keyboard."

Hux finds himself frowning. "Why do you know how to do this?"

"I prefer it over typing. It saves me time."

_Of course it does_ , Hux mentally scoffs. But it's come to help Hux, so for once, Ren's laziness in these matters has come in handy.

"I trust you'll respond to Vrieska in a timely matter now? I don't have time to deal with your squabbles."

Hux sneers. "You'll find no 'squabbling' from me, Supreme Leader."

"Good," says Ren. It's without the residual hate and disgust he usually carries in regard to Hux, especially when Hux is purposefully rude. In fact, Ren has taken no care about Hux's outbursts at all. He just... let himself into Hux's quarters without permission, left him an astromech droid that's supposed to assist him, enabled a helpful feature in his datapad, and that's ... it?

"Message me if you have problems with the droid. Have a good evening."

Hux's frown deepens as he listens to Ren leave his quarters.

☆

Across from Kylo sits Vrieska, as collected as ever, thinning grey hair plastered to his hair by the same pomade every other officer aboard the ship is provided. He sits poised in his chair — but not ramrod straight. He's rather at ease. It's his confident and smooth bearing that lead Kylo to pick him as Hux's replacement, even if said quality also doubles as an aggravating trait. Kylo doesn't like Vrieska 's non-reactions toward him; other officers cower in fear from him. And rightfully so.

But. Kylo must remind himself this is the quality he desired in the first place.

"Supreme Leader," Vrieska greets evenly. Kylo doesn't sense a hint of the vitriol Hux would normally spit the title out with.

"General," He acknowledges. "I meant to arrange this meeting earlier, but I'd been tied up, as I'm sure you're aware of."

It's the first time they're meeting in person. So far, their communications have been kept to messages over the First Order's networks.

"Of course," Vrieska says easily, keeping eye contact.

"I'm assuming Hux has handed over everything required?"

"Not without a fight."

"Fight?"

Vrieska's lip turns up into a sneer, but he quickly fights the expression away. "Armitage has been desperate for power all his life, sir. It's no surprise he's struggling to hand over every responsibility of his previous rank."

Kylo frowns. Everything Vrieska said is a part of Hux's personality Kylo has witnessed to hundreds of times, yet still, he finds his hands curling into fists at his side. " _Armitage?_ " Kylo questions, sounding angrier than he meant to.

"An old habit. I worked with his father, as well as trained him when he was a cadet."

"Yes," Kylo states, forcing himself to uncurl his fists. "I wanted to ask about that — your training of him. Your record for the First Order is perfect. Except for one red mark."

Vrieska's eyes narrow and he sits up in his seat straighter, "It's been proven a false accusation, as I'm sure you saw."

Yes, Kylo read the entire file. The one that determined Vrieska was not guilty of murdering a cadet. Kylo believes it's accurate. Hux does seem the type to imagine up a crime, blame his superior, and then earn a promotion because of it; Hux is nothing if not opportunistic. But one question remains. Kylo has to be sure. He can't have a backstabbing General working under him – he simply doesn't have the time to always be watching his back.

"You sent your best student into a test three times more challenging than the rest of the class. Why?"

"As I stated in my report, I had good reason to believe he'd pass. His marks in many of the subjects far surpassed his peers."

"Hux's did too."

"Ah – but not in combat."

Kylo begins to pace. "It's poor strategy to send your soldiers into a battle they're underprepared for, no matter how capable you think them," he says.

Vrieska watches him pace, his fingers tapping on the durasteel table he sits behind. "I agree, sir. I'd made a misjudgement, and to this day, I still regret it. He'd of made a fine officer."

Kylo stops his pacing, instead choosing to look out the viewport at the stars. He hates dealing with these old Imperial types and First Order fanatics, they're always difficult to read — not because they're skilled in protecting their thoughts, but because they often believe their own lies and propaganda. Kylo can't tell if Vrieska is lying to himself, or if he truly does feel compunction for his err in judgement. With the way he seemed to favour Evander in Hux's memories, Kylo is willing to believe the man is telling the truth.

"And Onderon?" Kylo finally asks. "Are there any updates from the investigation?"

"We know there were more in attendance than there was supposed to be. Security must have done a miscount; someone who wasn't supposed to be there slipped in. We're working on figuring out their identity and how they planted the bomb, but in the meantime, the investigative team believes the perpetrator is the reason for the meeting's delay."

Kylo crosses his arms, his lips pressing flat. He and Hux are the sole survivors of the bombing — an outcome certainly not the desired outcome of the attackers — so unless Hux has gone on blabbing to Vrieska about their meeting, which Kylo highly doubts—

"Sorry, sir, I failed to mention I was in contact with my lieutenant present at the meeting."

Kylo's arms remain crossed. The force gives no warning, nor any indication the statement is false, but Kylo doesn't trust it.

"I see. And they were just... giving you live updates?"

"No. She mentioned she'd have a couple of minutes extra to communicate with me as the meeting had been delayed."

Kylo says nothing in response. In turn, Vrieska fidgets in his seat, yet offers no other explanation. No extra tidbits of info to sell a lie. Kylo should be inclined to believe him — everything Vrieska said checks out, yet Kylo finds himself wanting to end their brief meeting with the faint worry he must watch his back around Vrieska too. He'd hoped to find a loyal officer, one not prone to backstabbing, but Kylo supposes that's simply the way of the First Order. Trust no one, assume everyone is scheming.

Kylo's nostrils flair and he uncrosses his arms. "That will be all."

He storms from the room.

☆

Back in his quarters, Kylo sits in place, cross-legged with up-turned palms resting upon his knees. Around him, various artifacts, books, and technologies from his missions throughout the galaxy lay scattered on the shiny black floors. He's yet to gather the mind to pick them up. Not when ten problems at a time are constantly biting at him, tearing at his clothes and begging for him to give them attention.

It's debilitating.

It's why he can't meditate, even though he sits still and utilizes the breathing exercises that he's gone through so many times they've become natural.

His mind is anything but the calm picture he paints — it's a canvas filled with chaos, with not a stroke upon it making a lick of sense. There's the First Order to contend with, for one. He's their Supreme Leader now. Which. Well, it wasn't so much a carefully calculated plan as it was more of a series of events that landed him in the opportune spot to seize the position. And now that it's his, he knows what he wants to do with it—eliminate the Resistance—but it's more of the how that eludes him. He never accounted for his command to be questioned within the mind of every officer he interacts with.

And so he sits, alone and rootless, on the cold floors of his quarters, wishing for a modicum of peace that has continually eluded him for the entire twenty-nine years of his life.

In the chaos of deciding new staff members, uncovering which officers aboard the _Finalizer_ can be trusted not to make a move against him, and pretending he does not hear the whispers of his uncle and father in nightmares, there is Hux.

Hux is the only distraction from it all — and not a pleasant one at that. Every night, Kylo cannot stop recalling Hux's memories. Pain in the form of blue-black bruises, and broken bones. Longing for someone, anyone, to relate to. To share something with. Finding it. Having it torn away so abruptly.

Originally, Kylo had thought Hux's refusal to answer his questions meant that Hux was either planning or actively committing betrayal, and Kylo intended to find that betrayal.

Instead, he found something else and no proof of his accusations.

Instead, Kylo now knows he shares the same feeling of longing Hux does.

☆

It starts slow and gradual. Entire weeks pass until Hux even realizes his vision has improved — not vastly, mind, but just enough to gain his notice. Shapes have become just a little less blurry, and if the lighting is right, he can tell that something is in front of him and avoid an unfortunate accident. The slow improvement finally gives him a sense of optimism and determination that'd all but vanished in past weeks, allowing him to return to his work with new vigour, and even plan his way back to becoming general.

The first step is leaving his quarters and proving to the crew of the Finalizer that not only is he still alive, but also that he can still operate just as well as he could before Onderon.

But his first venture to the bridge is more nerve-racking than he'd care to admit. The BB-11e unit sticks close by, dutifully keeping right in front of Hux while occasionally letting small beeps emit so that Hux may follow.

Admittedly, the droid has been quite helpful. It fetches and prepares meals for him, grabs him tea, caf, or water, and even calls the cleaning droids in the morning. Hux is capable of doing all this on his own, of course, but the small patches of freed up time is a pleasant improvement.

He wonders where Ren acquired the thing. It certainly doesn't have standard programming installed, and possessing a droid with non-standard programming is grounds for interrogation and dispensary action within the First Order. But Ren never followed rules before, and Hux isn't sure why he'd think Ren would start now.

A myriad of footsteps through the main hall interrupts his thoughts, especially seeing as they almost drown out the droid's beeps. It creates a disconnect. He can hear the officers and stormtroopers around him. But he can't identify nor acknowledge them. What grates on his nerves the most, however, is that they may be staring at him, making mocking expressions, or outright glaring, and he'll never know.

It's the aspect of control being taken away that's the worst part of losing his sight.

That, or his independence.

But still, Hux will not let it take his pride.

He walks through large blast doors onto the bridge with his shoulders set and his back straight, arms clasped behind him. It takes a considerable amount of effort to ensure his balance isn't off and he manages to walk as steadily as can be, all things considered.

And, at the least, the sounds from the bridge are as familiar as ever.

"Gen— I mean, Lieutenant-General Hux," an officer greets. He's taken off guard, Hux notes. Of course he is. All the officers know is that an accident occurred on Onderon and that Vrieska has taken over for the time being.

"Officer," Hux responds in return. He doesn't know who he's talking to. The voice is familiar, yet he can't put a face to the voice and he _hates_ that.

The officer, breaking protocol, asks, "You've... recovered?"

Once again, Hux wishes his injury was something more tangible. The only give away he doesn't have his sight, if the slightly off-kilter steps and droid trailing at his feet didn't already give it away, is the way his eyes may land on odd places and fixate on empty spaces.

"Yes, I've received no word from the Supreme Leader you've recovered," a voice interjects.

And Hux feels every limb freeze, the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

Vrieska shouldn't be on the bridge. It isn't his shift. Hux specifically chose to come at this time because Vrieska shouldn't be here.

"And wearing the general's stripes, no less? You've been appointed back to the rank then?"

Hux wants to glare, he truly does, but if he looks in the wrong direction, all the heat that expression would bear only fades into meaninglessness.

"Come, we'll have a discussion about your _return_ in my office."

Hux follows BB-11e, who dutifully rolls after Vrieska to his office located just off the bridge through an adjoining hallway. Hux wonders if the man took up his office — it's not like it'd be a difficult transition. The only personal item in that room was an insulated mug. Still, though, the thought of Vrieska invading a place he once spent hours of each of his days in before the accident on Onderon irks him.

When the door shuts behind them, Vrieska wastes no time. "You haven't regained your sight. What are you doing here?" he demands.

"These aren't your scheduled hours," Hux deflects.

"As if the esteemed General Hux didn't spend his hours working after designated times."

"I, unlike you, have useful ideas and input to be put to use. You're ... playing a part. The puppet of everyone's wills. You know that's why Kylo Ren elected to choose _you_ , of all personnel, to be General."

"As arrogant and foolish as ever," Vrieska laughs as if reminiscing on something pleasant. But their past is anything but pleasant. "A bastard such as yourself speaking to a General like that is grounds for disciplinary action, you know."

Hux knows the man is right but sneers anyway. Those rules should not apply to him, and he will continue to act as so.

"I don't know why you're so confident — my vision is already healing. You won't be in command for much longer," Hux states.

Vrieska laughs as if Hux just told some sort of joke.

Hux hears the rustling of fabric, of Vrieska's boots on the metallic floor. He moves closer to Hux, and there's more shifting. The astromech droid lets out a series of beeps and rolls around near Hux's feet, somewhere to his side, then its beeps escalate in volume and frequency. He's about to open his mouth to demand what in the hells is happening, but Vrieska beats him to it.

"Well, since you are so _capable_ , and you're already healing," he starts evenly, voice coming from below, and Hux understands _exactly_ what's going on. "You'll have no trouble getting back to your quarters without the astromech. Have a pleasant reminder of your cycle, _lieutenant-general_." He stands and backs away.

Hux can't hear the beeps from the droid anymore.

Vrieska moves to behind Hux. There's a ping from the access panel, the door whooshes open.

"Well?" Vrieska prompts.

Hux's face is warm, too warm, entirely against his will. This was supposed to be a simple visit to the bridge; a quick check-in to escape his suffocating quarters for an hour.

He clenches his hands into fists for a moment before uncurling the tensed fingers. He smoothes out an imaginary crease upon his uniform, vowing Vrieska will never see the expanse of space again once his vision returns. Hux'll have him executed.

But Ren seems to favour Vrieska.

Which. Could be a problem.

Hux takes his first few steps to the doorway, hesitates at the threshold, and Vrieska laughs.

Hux storms into the hall, further down the corridor, face still red and sure his eyes don't hide the fire blazing within.

He knows how to get back to his quarters, has walked the path between his office and rooms probably thousands of times before. He can follow it with his eyes closed no problem. Heedless of other troopers and officers, he strides through the halls, trusting they'll move out of his way. He's their general. Has been for years. Ren's demotion doesn't change that. He refuses to believe it does.

Only. There's a problem.

He hits a wall — figuratively. He's lost. He knows he should be at the transports, but he isn't. Around him, there are only more halls that lead to stars know where.

Then, there are footsteps coming up behind him. Ren's, as he's come to recognize. Ren's arm crosses in front of him, blocking his way, and Hux starts, only for Ren to wrap said arm around him before he loses his balance.

"Lost?" Ren asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I am not. I know my way back, Supreme Leader."

Ren spins him around, then moves his arm away from Hux. "If you're looking to go back to your quarters, they're that way."

In the complete opposite way he'd been heading. He doesn't understand, his rooms should be...— _oh_. Maybe Vrieska _hasn't_ taken up his old office. Therefore, Hux could've taken a multitude of completely wrong turns. He could be anywhere on the ship right now.

"Have you come to collect me? Punish me for leaving my rooms?" He asks Ren.

"Mm, no. Vrieska commed me that you were on the bridge. I expected you to disobey me and go anyway at some point. I'm only surprised it took you this long."

"You– _What_?" Hux sputters. "Then why bar me at all?"

"For your own good. To stop incidents just like this from occurring. Now come, I'll take you back to your rooms." Ren moves in front of him and starts walking.

Hux doesn't move. _Can't move_. His brain stutters over Ren's words, somehow refusing the notion Ren has been looking out for him. It's ridiculous.

"Do you need my arm?"

And that— that's just the topping of it all.

When did Ren decide to become _nice_? Like he hadn't kicked Hux awake merely two weeks ago? Like he hadn't torn into his mind and yanked out memories Hux never wanted to think of again. If this is some sort of apology, it's a poor one, and a gesture Hux doesn't appreciate. Hux isn't some helpless infant, and as dense as he thinks Ren, he knows the man is aware Hux can follow noises without hand (or arm) holding.

"Are you trying to mock me?" He spits instead.

He doesn't want to need Ren's help. Hates that he does. Hates that it's preferable to asking another officer or trooper.

"I'm trying to get you back to your quarters without you walking into a wall. It's called _helping_ , not mocking."

"Then you may want to try a different method. I'm not partial to ones that suggest I'm _useless_ , as you so kindly put it," He grates, then adds, "I can follow your steps." And takes quick, confident strides forward, not waiting for Ren to lead.

Sure enough, the quick pounding of boots on the bulkhead comes from behind him, soon catching up to him and sticking close by. Hux keeps careful pace, always keeping an ear out to make sure he's close enough to Ren that he won't get separated or confused. It's easy enough. For the most part, they walk in a straight line, and taking the lift to other sections of the ship is quite easy when someone else is pressing the buttons.

"Maybe I wouldn't have to treat you like this if you'd of used the astromech droid I gave to you," Ren comments amid the stifling silence of the lift.

"Considering said droid is out of commission thanks to Vrieska, that won't be possible anymore," Hux says peevishly.

"What?" Ren snaps, shifting around, likely to turn and look at Hux.

Hux simply shrugs, not bothering to face Ren in return if he can't see the man's expression. "I suppose he didn't approve of my visit to the bridge; he took it upon himself to disable the thing. I thought I knew the way back after, but apparently not."

"If you think lying about Vrieska is going to get you your rank back, you're going to have to try harder."

" _Lying_? Would you like to see its disassembled parts in Vrieska's office? Or perhaps take a tour through my mind to check for the truth, just like you did last time?"

A couple of seconds pass in which there's only the swooshing of the lift carrying them up dozens of levels in seconds and Ren's breathing.

"I—" Ren starts, but the quiet chime of the lift arriving at their floor effectively cuts off whatever apology or far-fetched excuse he's about to give. Hux doesn't want nor care to hear it. He makes a direct beeline to his quarters without waiting for Ren's next words, long strides hopefully putting as much distance between him and the Supreme Leader as possible.

"You're going the wrong way, Hux," comes Ren's voice from far behind him.

Hux ignores him. He knows the way back and he isn't falling for Ren's tricks.

"Hux, wait-!"

Hux turns around sharply. "Why do you care? Why are you helping me?

Ren is silent.

"If you truly want to help, replace Vrieska, or at least reprimand him. But. You don't believe me, so this is useless."

"I can't replace him."

"And why not?!"

"How does it make me look to be replacing high command at such a rapid pace? Especially when he's done nothing to prove a demotion is deserved. I know you're aware the Order is just waiting for a chance to jump on me; I'm not giving them that opportunity."

"Ren, he murdered a cadet before he could complete his test. You saw it. That's grounds enough."

"No, I didn't see that. All I saw was him coming back from that test with a dead cadet. In fact, I looked into the records. Dozens of officers gave testimonials that Vrieska liked Evander. That he was his favoured student. You even thought that yourself. I know you can't accept that his death was an accident, but I'm not removing him from power because you think Vrieska murdered him. There's no proof."

Hux sneers. "And why do you think that is? Just take a look in Vreiska's mind and you'll find out, seeing as you're so talented at doing that."

"I don't— I don't have the time— I'm too busy."

"Busy?" Hux says, disbelieving. With what? Communicating with ghosts and reading through ancient texts made by crazed sith? Ren never attends any of the meetings he should, doesn't respond to communiques, or even read the briefings Hux sends. Ren is lying, then. "Tell me, what have you accomplished in the last week?"

"I'm afraid that's none of your concern, General."

General. The title slid off Ren's tongue so easily.

Hux smirks, ready to bite out a remark, but Ren beats him to it. "How's your vision, _Hux?_ "

Blood travels to Hux's face, but he refuses to let it go pink.

His vision is tenuous at best, barely improved since he woke up in the medbay. But he can still do his job ... mostly. Commanding battles from the bridge is something he'll still have to work his way up to, but for now, he's managed to adapt, just as he's always had to throughout life, and he's not going to let this accident be the end of him.

"There's little change, but it has improved. I'm working on it. Vrieska disabling the droid was just a minor setback. I'm sure I can find another one, and make my way back to functioning as usual."

"None with the programming I gave it."

"You—" Hux knew the droid didn't have standard programming, that much was obvious. But he wouldn't have ever thought _Ren_ would spend the time or even possess the know-how to specifically program a droid for Hux's needs. No wonder Ren is "busy."

"How?" He chooses to ask instead.

"There was a lot of downtime in my years before the First Order. I decided to learn some binary among other things. It took a bit of re-familiarizing."

This is too much knowledge of Ren for one day. They don't share things like this. They don't share at all. Period. (Unless it's Ren forcefully taking the information directly from his mind).

Hux crosses his arms and searching for something to say, but nothing comes to mind. Ren's finally done it—he's rendered Hux wordless.

"I'll make another droid and reprimand Vrieska," Ren finally days. "Don't let me catch you on the bridge in the meantime."

With that, Hux is left staring at Kylo's back as he walks away.

☆

It's close to the middle of the graveyard shift. Every hall is dead silent but for the faint rumble of the Finalizer's engines and inner-workings purring as they run. Kylo hasn't come face to face with another soul since he hid away in his rooms after talking to Hux.

It's why he's so surprised when he enters the observatory to find Hux sitting with his knees folded up while sitting on one of the backless couches. He should've sensed Hux, but his mind was too preoccupied with his lack of sleep for him to even think of reaching out with the force.

On the couch, Hux faces the windows, though Kylo knows he can't see the stars and nebula that lie beyond the glass. Occasionally, he sips from the mug he has precariously balanced by his leg. He's dressed in a black long-sleeved shirt, while still in uniform pants and boots, and without the padding of his usual uniform top, Kylo is just realizing for the first time how skinny Hux actually is. 

"Did you need something, Supreme Leader?" 

Kylo jumps. 

"How did you know it was me standing here?"

"I recognized the sound of your steps. They're very heavy."

Kylo supposes that was likely to happen if one can only rely on their other senses. Still, it's oddly warming to know Hux recognizes his steps and can pick them apart from other's.

He walks further into the room, taking a seat on another couch nearby the one Hux is sitting on. "Why are you awake?"

"Didn't want to sleep," Hux says, and takes a drink from his mug.

"Didn't want to, or couldn't?"

"Both."

"Me too," Kylo confesses. He doesn't know why he did so. 

"Why?"

"For the same reason you can't," he states cryptically. Namely, ghosts from their pasts. 

Hux says nothing afterwards. It leads Kylo to wonder why Hux is even in the observatory in the first place — he certainly can't see the stars outside. Perhaps a late-night walk was required to clear his mind and he chose here because it's quiet; the sound of the ship's engines is drowned out. What's even more curious is how little Hux seems to care Kylo is in the same room — usually he'd be tense, but it seems a lack of sleep has drained all care from him.

Kylo doesn't know how much time he lets pass until Hux finally stands up. Kylo's thoughts are still elsewhere until there's a clang and the sound of liquid pouring everywhere.

"Fuck," Hux mutters and bends down to find the mug he drops.

"Let me," Kylo says. He reaches out a hand while Hux backs away, allowing Kylo to set the mug upright. He channels the tea back into the cup, and the mess is gone just like that. Standing, Kylo walks over to pick the mug up and offers it back to Hux by pressing it into his hands. Hux jumps at the touch of Kylo's bare hands, just as Kylo marvels at the sensation of Hux's. 

Hux's face makes some sort of micro reaction Kylo can't put a name to, but in the force, it feels something like pleasant surprise. Which quickly leads to confusion. Irritation.

"'Night," is all Hux says as he turns to leave the room.

Kylo thinks about the soft skin of Hux's hands and how unfitting of a feature it is for a man who's murdered billions all the way back to his quarters.

☆

"Sir," Vrieska stands as Kylo enters the office.

"General," Kylo acknowledges.

Normally, this is the part where Vrieska would nod and take his seat, but he remains standing, body overly stiff as if one movement will send Kylo biting and snarling.

Perhaps he is right in this train of thought.

"There's a BB Series droid I'm told you've dismantled," Kylo states, taking a step toward Vrieska. His eyes don't waver from the general's for a moment.

Vrieska's eyebrows quirk. "You mean Hux's modified BB unit?" He moves his stiff arms away from his sides and crosses them, the faintest hint of a sneer crossing his face. "Modifications are against First Order regulations, sir. Figures he'd step above the line and think himself special and build one. He's always been that way."

"I think you've misread the situation, General."

Vrieska stares, his pale eyes full of discontent.

"That droid," Kylo starts, voice low, "was of my design, given to Hux to use while he recovers."

At first, the fire raging in Vreiska's eyes only intensifies, then, it's doused and warbling concern replaces it. It's funny to watch rage and fear blossom within Vrieska, to see which will rule above the other. Rage—it seems, surprisingly—when Vrieska's face settles into a deep frown. His lip twitches, almost pulling into a sneer, the same way it did when Hux interrupted him during the battle simulation, all those years ago.

Kylo hadn't really believed this weasel of a man to be capable of murder, as Hux so confidently accused. With no proof and little evidence of this rage lying dormant, Kylo truly believed what happened to Hux's past lover had been nothing but an accident. Now, Kylo's not so sure.

"There are droids from the medbay that could surely help with that, Supreme Leader. There was no reason to create a droid for him."

Kylo snarls. He raises his hand and reaches out. Vrieska steps away, his back meeting the wall and eyes widening, anger quickly forgotten. By the time he realizes what Kylo's doing, it's already too late, his unsuspecting mind defenceless and easy to crack open. With ease, Kylo sorts through memory after memory, going years back, to the year Hux became an official officer and engineer.

-

_The sun hangs low on the horizon, loose sand stirs around in eddies, kicked up by the strengthening wind. In the distance is a single figure dressed in the dark greys of an officer's uniform, where there should be figures of troopers decked in white beside him. Instead, they all lie on the ground save for one, who lies propped up at the cadet's feet._

_Vrieska pulls up and stops the speeder._

_The cadet's blonde hair and face are covered in dirt, but the weary expression he wears relaxes into relief. He's passed. Almost died in the process, was put through the most trying test, more so than the rest of his class, and still made it out._

_He was never meant to._

_For that reason, Vrieska pulls his blaster from his side, takes aim, and fires before the boy can so much as scream. Next is the stormtrooper, still alive on the ground beside him, dead so it may never tell of the crime Vrieska has committed._

-

Kylo doesn't wait to see Vrieska's response.

Let him lie on the floor and panic.

Kylo has a General to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this chapter was enjoyable!
> 
> Comments are very much appreciated! <3


	3. Chapter 3

Hux's quarters are not overly far from Kylo's. They're on the same deck but are several halls apart.

Within, Kylo can feel Hux's presence; it's awake and alert, the sharp, bright thing it always is. Though, he's unable to tell if Hux is currently sleeping or not. It's not terribly late, especially by Hux's standards, so there's little hesitation in pressing the button for guest access. He shifts his weight from foot to foot as he waits, mind still roiling from Vrieska's memory.

Kylo gives Hux another minute to answer the comm, then hits the button again. When there's still nothing, he waves his hand. The door hisses open easily, as though he'd input Hux's code cylinders himself.

He walks in slowly with deliberate heavy steps, so as not to catch Hux unawares like the last time. Hux's rooms are still as impersonal as always, almost to a scary degree. The bed is made so perfectly Kylo doesn't know if it's an obsessive fixation or a habit ingrained to a military child with a demanding father, and each and every surface in the room is devoid of personal possessions. Even the shelves — which Kylo thought would contain some prototypes, or storage banks, anything, but there's just nothing. The only sign anyone even occupies these rooms is the datapad haphazardly placed on the desk.

It's when Kylo's eyes meet the half-open fresher door he knows where Hux is. He can see him, fully dressed in jodhpurs, a simple black shirt, and boots, facing the sink, water running in a small trickle, a razor in his hand. Half of the almost-beard he'd been sporting replaced by smooth, bare skin. Kylo recalls the time he'd walked into Hux's quarters to find him in sleep clothes, his jaw covered in small red nicks from shaving.

"Hux," he says, careful not to be too loud, and hates the way his voice comes out vulnerable because of it.

But the result is still Hux jumping, the razor digging deep into his jaw bone, and a choked back yelp. He quickly brings his hand to the cut, trying to stem the flow of blood.

"What are you doing here?" Hux demands, turning to the doorway. His eyes settle somewhere in the room, looking right at Kylo, but not seeing him. The lack of eye contact is still something Kylo is adjusting to, but it's unimportant in the face of the news he carries.

Kylo makes to respond, but his eyes fall on where Hux holds his fingers against the cut on his jaw. Maroon droplets leak from between the fingers and Hux shifts them, as if trying to better stop it. It won't work, Kylo can sense. It's too deep; will take a while to scab over.

"Let me help," he blurts.

Hux's eyes narrow, his unoccupied hand curling into a fist. Under the show of anger, Kylo can feel fear. "Help? With what? Ren, why are you here?"

It's then realization dawns that perhaps it hadn't been a good idea to confront Hux with such bracing news while he's in the fresher, shaving his face. Not just a week ago, in these same rooms, he accidentally broke Hux's mind and saw his life play out before his eyes. The closer Kylo searches, he feels uncertainty from Hux. He's not sure why Kylo is here and that alarms him.

"I should've commed," Kylo states, almost uncertain. He doesn't apologize to anyone. Ever. "Let me help with the cut on your face and then we'll discuss why I'm here."

"Help how? Use your mystical powers to make it disappear?"

"Not exactly."

Hux raises an eyebrow and doesn't move. Makes no attempt to welcome Kylo into his space.

It's understandable but highly annoying.

"I won't do anything. I'll just stop the bleeding."

Hux frowns, bringing his hand away from his bloodied face and reluctantly returning it back to his side. "Alright, do it then."

Hux is daring him—as if Kylo had been bluffing about being able to heal him. Hux has always been a skeptic of the force, even having witnessed its power, having _felt_ it, undeniably, he still looks upon it as though it's a make-believe fairy tale.

Kylo, determined to show him, peels his gloves off, tossing them onto Hux's bed, and walks up to Hux calmly. He reaches out a hand, meeting the warm and stubble-rough skin of Hux's jaw and the sticky-hot blood trailing down his jaw and down his neck. Hux doesn't jump at the touch, but Kylo can feel the tensing of his jaw under his touch. Could hear Hux inhale sharply. He supposes he should announce his touch next time—Hux can't really see it coming.

Out of the corner of his vision, he can see Hux close his eyes. For just a few seconds, Kylo loses focus—forgets he's meant to heal the cut when the warmth of Hux's breath meets his face. Kylo can't remember the last time he'd been in another's space this way. When he'd last felt someone else's skin beneath his hands with no ulterior motive behind it.

For a second he thinks about it. About Hux not in the context of him being a general, or an adversary, but rather a man like any other. If one can look past the heavily gelled back hair and the stiff exterior, he's not rough on the eyes. His hair colouring is rare, very rare, for this end of the galaxy, and is rather striking. Even prettier are the pale lashes fanned out over pale, flawless skin.

Hux shifts, as if irritated, causing Kylo to snap back to attention before his mind can wander any further.

He closes his eyes as well, delving into the force and all the lifeforms he can feel around him. He channels into just the one in this room.

It's not an easy feat to heal someone, or even yourself, with the force. He's yet to master anything beyond small cuts, but it's enough. Beneath his touch, the cut on Hux's jaw stops its flow of blood, the cells quickly working to form a scab.

Kylo lifts his hand and inspects his work, happy to see a perfectly scabbed over cut. He has trouble bringing the healing past this point still, but at least Hux isn't leaking sticky blood everywhere.

"There," Kylo says.

Hux's shoulders release the tension they'd been holding and he breathes out. He quickly roves his fingers over the scab, and for just a second his eyebrow shoot up. The expression is gone as quick as it came, however, and Hux turns his head in the direction of Kylo.

"Why are you here?" Hux asks again, this time without urgent demand.

"I'd like some advice."

Hux quirks an eyebrow. "On what?"

"There's a certain General I'd like to get rid of."

"What? Vrieska?" Hux asks. "Why? What has he done?"

"It's not a ... recent crime. I drew out memories from him. From the day you passed your officer training."

Kylo swears Hux's face turns pale. But before Hux can protest he doesn't want to talk about that day, Kylo continues.

"He was never meant to come back from the test. Vrieska arranged for him to be sent into the worst of it, but he made it through anyway. He was waiting for extraction when Vrieska shot him before he had the chance to say a word."

Hux stays silent, his only outward reaction being him turning to the sink and just leaning on the counter, gripping at the edge of it with white-knuckled hands.

Within the force, it's a different story.

Hux is bitter. Resentful. He wants to smash the mirror, cry, yell, and destroy everything. Yet he remains stock still.

Kylo's best friend is embitterment; sometimes he thinks he knows it better than any other being in the galaxy. To see it expressed so clearly in front of him, in a man so repressed, he wants to break the mirror for Hux, to let that anger rush out and fuel Hux.

"Hux?" Kylo prods.

"I'd barely given him more than a passing thought for years, you know. He didn't appear in nightmares nor daydreams. I didn't cry over it. I'm not that boy anymore — I made myself forget. And suddenly for the past few weeks, I've been haunted in my sleep by his face thanks to you."

Kylo opens his mouth, but Hux isn't done yet.

"I lost Starkiller, my vision, my rank. Everything I've ever worked for. I have _nothing_ now. And you put Vrieska in my place, then heap _this_ on me," Hux seethes.

"Hux—"

" _Why_ are you here?"

"I just told you."

"You know what I meant. Why bother? I'm useless, aren't I? I have no eyesight, therefore I serve no purpose to you or the Order anymore. My vision— it isn't coming back, you know."

It's like the air is punched out of Kylo. "What?" He asks.

Hux stills, as though he's realized he shouldn't have admitted such a thing. "I suppose I couldn't keep the charade forever." He breathes out deeply as if preparing himself, "The head medic told me it may heal on its own within the parameter of a few months. But I went to the medbay this morning. It's not going to get any better — it's already healed as much as it can."

"I don't care you can't see. You can still do your work, it'll just be an adjustment. But you've proven you can do it with the right aid," he says. 

Kylo watches Hux for a reaction, but the man simply stands still, looking in Kylo's direction as if waiting for him to elaborate. Or perhaps revoke his words — a fair expectation.

"We have a death to plan," Kylo redirects in response to Hux's silence.

"Yes, and there's the matter that you interrupted me halfway through shaving my face. Give me twenty minutes and I'll be out."

Twenty minutes is much longer than it takes Kylo to do his entire face. Twenty minutes that he doesn't want to spend waiting, because try as he might, his intolerance for being made to wait has never been high.

"Let me help."

To his surprise, Hux turns to the side to allow Kylo into the narrow room and pass behind him. "I _will_ need to learn to do this on my own eventually, you do know."

Kylo makes a grunt of acknowledgement and moves past Hux into the fresher. "And you know I don't like to wait."

"Yes, I know that too well," Hux says, then reaches out for the razer and picks it up from where it sat in a watery puddle on the counter when he feels it and holds it out for Kylo to take it out of his hand.

Kylo takes it in his hand deftly, its weight all too familiar as it's standard issue. Every officer aboard the ship has one, including himself.

It'll be easy, he thinks. Just like doing it for himself.

Only. He realizes he _really_ didn't think this through.

He has to step into Hux's personal space _again_ in order to manoeuvre the razor across his face and even needs to keep a grip on the shaved side of Hux's face to keep his balance. Their faces are close. Their bodies close, and Kylo can't help but take in Hux's other features. Plush, soft-looking lips that look as though they've never been bitten or cut in his lifetime, and completely unblemished skin.

It's not what he should be focusing on as he runs the razer down Hux's face, hating how excruciatingly intimate this is.

Hux, too, seems to hate it. He's unusually stiff, breathing in a controlled pattern. Kylo can tell. He uses the same technique while meditating.

"I want to do it myself," Hux says abruptly.

"Do what yourself?" Kylo asks, dipping the razor into the water. His brows draw together in confusion, thinking Hux has suddenly changed his mind about Kylo helping him. Maybe this _is_ too intimate— perhaps he's crossed a line and—

"I want to kill Vrieska."

Oh.

"You're sure? Have you ever even killed someone personally?"

Hux glares. "Yes. What do you think happened to Admiral Brooks? Did you think I had Phasma do it for me?"

"I assumed."

"Well, she didn't kill him. I did. And I enjoyed every second of it."

Kylo pauses in his movement to bring the razor back to Hux's face, which is deadly serious. He really did kill the man behind their crash landing on that mushroom-filled dump of a planet. Kylo didn't think Hux had the heart — he'd always considered Hux more of the type to make someone else get blood on their hands. Blood is too messy of a thing for Hux. But apparently that's not reality.

Huh.

Kylo evaluates Hux's face. Most of it is shaved now. There's just the section close to Hux's sideburns, and Kylo can only hope he can emulate what Hux has done on the other side. It seems they're reduced greatly — whether that was a conscious choice or a result of his loss of vision, Kylo isn't sure.

"I thought you'd have Phasma do it," Kylo admits. "You said you'd be less messy than me, and she's a clean shot. And you had her murder your father for you, so I assumed."

"How do you know about that?" Hux snaps.

"Phasma's thoughts weren't heavily guarded. She thought about it from time to time and I picked it up."

"And you told no one?"

"I thought it was an open secret," Kylo shrugs. It seems most in the Order assumed Hux had some sort of hand in his father's death anyway. "Now be quiet so I can finish."

Hux thankfully follows his request and tilts the unfinished side of his jaw toward Kylo for easier access. It still feels weird to be doing this — the closeness of their bodies, them being in the same room without fighting? It's a novel experience Kylo finds himself not minding. He never thought he'd be in this type of situation with Hux. Especially after he woke to a warning In the force that Hux was prepared to shoot him in Snoke's throne room.

But Kylo has been equally terrible to him.

And that's the problem with them. Kylo has the ability to save a shuttle hurtling toward the hard ground of a planet with a thought. He can implode caves with his mind, stop blaster bolts mid-air, fall miles upon miles off a cliff and stop himself from becoming a splat upon the ground, and can even bring entire ships out of the air if he concentrates hard enough.

But what can Hux do in the face of that? He's by no means useless— but when Kylo languished, chained and cowed under Snoke's thumb, Hux thrived. Thrived upon knowing he was safe from those more powerful than him, who sought to destroy him. Thrived upon the knowledge Snoke would never let Kylo murder him like he sometimes wanted to.

Remove Snoke from the equation, and suddenly Hux has a blaster in his hand, aimed at Kylo, ready to take back his safety.

"If I hadn't woken up that day in Snoke's throne room, would you have done it? Would you have shot me?" Kylo asks. He knows this question is out of the blue. He knows the answer. Yet he asks anyway.

"Yes," Hux answers, unflinching. It's not surprising, yet at the same time, it is. Hux knows Kylo can kill him for saying such a thing, yet Hux seems to know, or at least trust, that they've entered past the threshold of Kylo reacting violently.

Kylo keeps the razor strokes on Hux's face gentle, careful to not betray the toil of emotions Hux's answer stokes.

"Because you wanted to be Supreme Leader. Because you hate me," Kylo states.

"No. Because without Snoke, I thought you'd do as you'd always wished to: rid yourself of me."

"I wouldn't have."

"After all you've done, I'm not inclined to believe that."

The choking. Throwing Hux into a console. Viewing his memories without his consent. (That one had been an accident). Yet still, nothing he can say will convey the acute sickness that fell over him right after he'd witness some of Hux's worst memories. Kylo didn't want to view such them. Had never cared to. He'd just wanted to be sure Hux wasn't hiding an assassination plot. And after he'd done it... how could he not see Hux differently?

"I'm sorry," Kylo decides to say. The words feel like acid leaving his mouth. They are weak — they are the words of a boy. He regrets them immediately.

He should—

"I know," Hux says.

He—

"What?"

"You wouldn't be doing this if you weren't," he says. "You wouldn't have built that droid for me or helped me figure out my datapad. As horrible as your attempts to make up for what you've done, you've at least finally brought me the truth about what Vrieska did."

Kylo stares.

"Now angle the razer to the side a bit more," Hux commands, shifting side to side. It seems he detests in revealing any shred of feelings just as much as Kylo does.

"Why?" Kylo asks, grateful to shed the weight of their previous topic.

"Less potential ingrown hairs that way."

Kylo doesn't really see how a slight angle change will help that but obeys all the same. He usually finds it easier to acquiesce to whatever Hux wants rather than argue with him. (Not that he follows said advice most times).

He continues to work on getting rid of the last few hairs upon Hux's jaw, wrist now adjusted to the angle Hux wanted. To get the last bit on the side of Hux's face, Kylo pinches Hux's jaw between his fingers and turns his face to the side, but stills when his thumb accidentally brushes the soft skin of Hux's bottom lip. Hux inhales sharply, but it takes him a second until he gives a slight jump at the touch, and Kylo quickly draws his hand away, settling it awkwardly at his side instead of somewhere on Hux, as if touching him further is unbearable.

His imagination has no such qualms about touching Hux — he wonders what would happen if he were to put his finger in Hux's mouth. How his pink, plush lips would suck on it, how in another situation—

He stops himself before the thoughts bring out a more physical reaction in his body.

And now's there's a dilemma. He can't take the last bit of hair off Hux's face without touching him again. He hovers over Hux's face with the razer trying to quickly think his way out of this mess.

Hux seems to notice the hesitation and shifts side to side restlessly, waiting for him.

Kylo feels the tension in the small room has been pulled so taught it may break with but another movement from him.

So fuck it, he thinks and places his hand on the side of Hux's face, grimacing at the remains of sticky shaving cream still left on Hux's face, now also upon his hand. Hux exhales loudly at the touch and Kylo does the last stroke across his face, dipping the razor into the water when he's done.

He looks around the room and reaches out for a fluffy white hand towel hanging beside the sonic along with various other sizes of towels and a black silk-like robe. He almost snorts when he sees it because it's just so Hux, but forces himself to focus on the task at hand.

He turns the tap on to hot, waits for a second for the water to become warm, and dips the towel under quickly, then squeezes out the excess drops. Kylo checks that the towel is a comfortable temperature and drags it gently across the lower part of Hux's face, making sure it's entirely clean. He can't help but admire the flawless, pale skin beneath. It's so smooth.

And he hates himself for thinking that, but cannot stop it.

He's had passing attraction to other men, had a couple of fixations he'd rather forget, and some late nights spent in bed. Now he's recognizing it's starting all over again for _Hux_ of all people.

He takes a step back and sets the wet towel to the side of the sink, and evaluates Hux's face. He looks good clean-shaven.

Once his face is dry they're silent — and there's something weird in the air there hadn't been before. Kylo struggles with it. It disquiets him.

"Well," Hux begins, filling the empty space. "Shall we talk about Vrieska?"

"Yes," Kylo agrees.

This is where the tension should break apart and dissolve. But it doesn't. It only follows them into Hux's bedroom, where Kylo wishes more than ever before he was more well-suited to deal with situations such as this.

Hux reaches a hand back to feel for the bed, then takes a seat on it. He looks in Kylo's direction and seems to be contemplating something for a couple of seconds.

"I'm not as up to date on current affairs as I'd like to be," he starts. "Have you heard any further word from the Onderon investigation?"

"No," Kylo answers.

Their forensics and investigations division, despite being highly competent, have found no traces of the perpetrator who planted the bomb. For all they would have Kylo think, it could be the Resistance or rebellious Onderon citizens. But Kylo knows better. He doesn't know exactly what's at play, but he _does_ have a strong suspicion.

"I... think I know who was behind it."

"Who?"

"Vrieska. With help from others."

"And... the force told you this?" Hux asks, arms crossed, biting the inside of his cheek. Even with evidence of the Force's power upon his jaw, he's still a skeptic. Kylo almost wants to be angry.

"No," Kylo says tightly. "It told me nothing. It's just that– something about this situation is off. _no_ progress has been made in the investigation, Vrieska knows information about the meeting he shouldn't have, and I already know he's murdered before. He has the backbone to attempt something like it again."

"Yes, this does seem like something he'd love to attempt," Hux says plainly. "Of course he's behind this too."

"He's well-liked. Arresting him will only stir the rest of his sympathizers into more anger. We don't need the First Order falling apart from the inside."

Hux stands from the bed, a small, saccharine smile plays across his face. "Well done, Ren. You're finally learning." He walks a sort of circle around Kylo. "Now do you have a plan?"

Kylo is infinitely thankful Hux can't see the angry pink falling across his face, because _no_ , he hasn't thought of a plan. He'd barely even come to the realization Vrieska could be behind the bombs on Onderon before he'd arrived at Hux's quarters.

"Of course you don't," Hux remarks. He stops pacing in that weird semi-circle pattern to stand in front of Kylo. "Thankfully, I do."

"And?"

"And, because I have you, this plan needn't be overly complicated. In fact, it's more your style. We'll apprehend Vreiska and you'll force him to confess to both the murder of Evander and being behind the bombing on Onderon while we record it. You can even rip the name of the traitors from his mind. You're rather gifted at that.

Some of his sympathizers will be upset at his arrest, but Evander's parents are both high-ranking members of the Order. If they knew the truth of their son's death, I'm sure they could sway others against Vrieska's side."

Satisfaction washes through Kylo. For once, Hux is treating them as though they're on the same side. For once, it feels like they're one the same page, that there's respect where once a hole full of insecurity and loathing lay. More and more, Kylo finds himself relying on Hux — both as a general, and just an acquaintance. Someone he can talk to.

But most of all, Kylo doesn't want to work with anyone else but Hux.

Only Hux.

Kylo takes a sturdy breathy and steps toward, a step closer to Hux. He lowers his voice: "When Vrieska is gone, I want you to take the title of Grand Marshall."

Hux's face twitches. "What?" He asks sharply.

"Grand Marshall," Kylo repeats.

"Ren, if this is just some consolation for my... condition, or a sorry way of apologizing, then I don't want it."

"It's not."

Hux's jaw works as though he's about to say something, like he's trying to make sense of the promotion. He takes a couple of sharp steps forward that bring him right in front of Kylo. Hux seems as if he might slap him. As if he's angered by this.

"Hux—" Kylo attempts, but he's effectively silenced by Hux reaching out for him, and cupping a hand around the side of his neck. It seems this is a mistake, though, so Hux corrects himself and brings the hand to where Kylo's jaw and neck connect and pulls him forward, connecting their lips.

Hux's lips are soft and pillowy — somehow unexpectedly, like the descriptors don't fit him. Hux is sharp. Harsh. Yet this part of him isn't. And Kylo's so caught up in the feeling he forgets to respond, leaving him just standing there, frozen, while Hux does all the work.

Evidently not happy with his unresponsiveness, Hux pulls back, eyebrows furrowed. "Tell me I haven't misinterpreted this."

He has. Or maybe he hasn't? Kylo isn't quite sure himself, all he knows is that he likes the feeling of Hux's lips on his.

"No. I just. You're..." Kylo exhales sharply, frustrated the words he intends are caged behind his teeth, grabs onto Hux's shoulders, and brings their lips back together.

His world is consumed by Hux — his nondescript First Order cologne, his lips, his breath. Just everything. His heart begins to race in anticipation, just as the rest of sensations in his body feel heightened.

Kylo slowly starts to back Hux up toward the bed, where the back of Hux's calves hit the mattress and he takes the cue, allowing himself to be pushed down back onto the bed. Kylo chases him onto it, settling himself on top of Hux, with one leg placed between Hux's thighs, right up against the burgeoning stiffness in Hux's trousers.

Kylo takes a moment to absorb Hux's face. The strange vulnerable quality of it. His eyes are not set on Kylo, or anywhere in particular. It's refreshing, that he's a partner who cannot fixate on his face, or see any of the numerous flaws in his physical appearance. Yet, Hux's lack of sight doesn't remove the weird feeling bubbling up in Kylo. Wanting to be rid of said feeling, he starts kissing Hux again; nipping at his bottom lip, then moving to his jaw, and next, to the side of his neck. Hux makes a noise when Kylo sucks at the vulnerable skin; arches his neck to allow Kylo better access. The skin he finds there is so smooth and warm. Kylo is surprised by this too, like he'd expected it to be cold. Rough.

Every piece of Hux's body is a contradiction to himself — a delicate body, dainty hands, pretty blonde eyelashes. Perhaps only his hair colour and eyes match his personality; flinty and fierce.

Kylo wants to see if the rest of Hux's body matches, but is obstructed by a standard-issue teeshirt and jodhpurs. Hux seems to get the message when Kylo trails a finger down his collar bone to the collar of his shirt and hooks a finger under it.

"Here, let me," Hux tells him, sitting up as Kylo moves back to give him space and let him take the shirt off.

Kylo drinks in every inch of pale skin revealed, jumping back onto Hux as soon as the shirt is discarded.

Until he really takes in what he's seeing.

There are scars. Everywhere. Of varying types and sizes — some are pink, very visibly raised. Others are shiny and white. The alarming majority of them are, as Kylo can tell, burns; the rest seem to be cuts. These scars are not the type one is proud to have on their body; they're not from battles or accidental injuries. They're not even self-inflicted.

He remembers Hux hiding under a bed at the age of five, violently shaking with tears streaming down his face, hiding from his father.

Unable to stop himself, he runs a hand over a puckered burn, not unlike the one on his own shoulder that he received from the traitor stormtrooper. Hux shifts uncomfortably under the touch.

"Brendol?" Kylo asks, knowing the answer.

Hux makes a face, and it's then Kylo knows he shouldn't have brought this up now. "That one, yes," Hux answers. He hesitates for a few seconds. "Not all are his doing. Some were from training, others I barely remember. Now stop looking at them and focus on me."

"I don't mind them," Kylo states.

"Well, I do, and I'd like to get moving with this, else you can leave."

Kylo shouldn't find Hux lying back in bed, hair freed from its usual severity, scars bared, attractive. But he does. Something about Hux being unflinching now, even after all Kylo has done to him in the past, is striking. And Kylo feels Hux deserves a reward for the difficulties he's dealt with in the past months — most of which were, admittedly, Kylo's doing.

He starts just under Hux's jaw, first placing his lips to it, then moving further down, nipping at the sensitive skin. It earns a sudden intake of breath from Hux, who grinds upward, meeting Kylo's hips — wanting more, Kylo continues to kiss, suck, and bite his way down Hux's body; from his collarbones, moving down to his navel, where a patch of red hair leads down to what he truly wants.

Kylo grips the waistband is Hux's pants and pulls — Hux gets the idea, raising his hips to allow Kylo to smoothly pull the pants off.

That leaves just Hux in his briefs, which are already low on Hux's hips from pulling off his pants.

Kylo makes short work of those too.

"Ren, what-"

Kylo doesn't give Hux a chance to speak any further before his hand is on his cock. He runs it up and down the soft skin of it firmly, causing Hux to buck his hips up into it.

Funnily enough, Kylo feels none of the urgency that he has with other partners — not in the sense he doesn't desire Hux sexually, or that he has no want to get off, but rather, he doesn't see this as just an encounter that's sole purpose is for blowing off some steam.

But now he's below Kylo, receptive to every touch and just as — _surprisingly_ — into this as Kylo.

Amused and slightly transfixed, he takes his hand off Hux, shifting into a better position then placing his hand on the base of Hux's cock, and takes the pink tip of it into his mouth. Hux makes a surprised squeak. Beneath the hand resting on Hux's thigh, the muscles are tense. Like Hux is refusing to move his hips upwards.

Kylo appreciates the effort, seeing as it's been years since he's done this act; and even then, he's only done it sparingly.

He carefully moves his tongue around Hux's cock thanking the stars it isn't thick, or else this would be much more challenging. One of Hux's hands winds down into his hair and holds on to a chunk. It stings, but Kylo likes the feeling — it encourages him to take Hux deeper into his mouth, but he gets a bit too overzealous and gags, forcing him to drop the length from his mouth.

Hux snorts at this, to which Kylo slaps the side of his thigh sharply, earning a surprised yelp.

"It's been a while," he states. He meant to say it plainly, but it comes out sounding more defensive than anything else.

Regardless, Kylo continues, taking the length back in his mouth and sucking on it gently. He takes about half of it into his mouth, and uses his hand for the rest, not daring to go any further for the risk of gagging and embarrassing himself in front of Hux again. But it's not long after that Hux's breathing picks up, and he starts to squirm, very visibly trying to keep himself from bucking up that Kylo realizes he may not be the only one in this situation who's gone a while without a sexual partner.

Kylo stops. "Are you close already?" He has to ask.

" _It's been a while_ ," Hux mocks, but the effect of it is lost to his face turning pink.

Kylo smirks, glad Hux can't see it, for surely he'd end this encounter just as quickly as it started if he knew Kylo found his embarrassment amusing.

Or maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he'd turn even further pink with arousal. Either way, Kylo doesn't feel like testing that out at the moment. Not while he's still he's throbbing in his pants.

But he's not ready for either one of them to reach their release just yet, so he moves back up to Hux's face and plants a positively filthy kiss to the corner of his mouth, then slowly works his way over to Hux's ear.

"I want to fuck you," he states, voice low.

He can hear the uptake in Hux's breathing and feels the way he shifts beneath him. "Yes, okay."

Kylo moves back to Hux's lips and kisses him furiously, even putting out his tongue to enter Hux's mouth, but Hux makes a noise and moves his head away.

"What?" Kylo asks, perplexed.

"Really? You just had me in your mouth."

Kylo snorts. "Should I go wash my mouth out for you?"

Hux's face turns even further pink. Kylo feels a degree of satisfaction at the sight. Instead of getting up to wash his mouth (like he was ever going to), he starts the process of taking his clothes off. When he finally reaches his briefs and takes those off, he feels blessedly free.

"Do you have any lubricants?" Kylo asks.

"In the bathroom. It's in the cupboard. I can go get it if you..."

There's the sound of a cabinet opening in the bathroom and then the bottle makes a slap-like noise when it meets Kylo's bare palm.

"...want." Hux's eyebrows raise. "Or you can do that."

Kylo smiles, enjoying the ability to freely emote around Hux. He flips open the lid to the lube, pouring some on his fingers.

"Wait–"

Kylo pulls his hand back.

"I want to feel you. I can't ... I can't see what you look like. So I want to feel it."

Kylo considers Hux's request. Considers the way Hux is so vulnerable right now; asking for such a thing, being unclothed, unable to see Kylo's next touch coming. Yet Hux doesn't let himself feel diminished for it. Kylo gladly reaches for Hux's hand with his non-lubed hand and guides it to run down his abdominal muscles, down to his pelvis where coarse black hairs grow, to the base of his cock, all while watching Hux's face as he does so. Hux tries to not react. But his eyes widen fractionally when he reaches Kylo's cock and moves to stroke it.

Kylo has to try and keep himself from bucking his hips as Hux explores him. Instead, he chooses to concentrate on Hux's ass — he puts his hands on Hux's thighs and moves them apart. Hux doesn't seem bothered by the motion, continuing to stroke Kylo while he roves his hand slowly across the globe of Hux's ass to his hole. Hux jolts when a finger brushes against him, then dips inside slowly but makes no protest.

Kylo takes opening Hux up as slowly as possible, but with Hux's hands on him, it's impossible not to rush the process. After a couple of minutes, he has to stop Hux from jerking him off, or it'll be over before he's even inside Hux.

"I'm ready, Ren," Hux says once three fingers are inside him.

"You're sure?"

"Are you implying I can't take you?"

"No. But–"

"If it hurts a bit, I don't mind. I can tolerate pain."

"It's not supposed to hurt," Kylo states.

"Ren, with a cock as big as yours, it's going to hurt unless I've prepared excessively. Now come on, get on your back."

Kylo's eyebrows raise. If Hux wants to take control and ride him, that's more than fine. It's just... unexpected. So onto his back he goes, wetting his cock with the rest of the lube on his fingers.

Hux gets up from where he lay, his face and chest flushed red, and straddles Kylo, his ass brushing Kylo's cock, and Kylo can't help the twitch it gives.

Though Hux cannot see him, he still smiles knowing at Kylo.

Kylo places a hand on Hux's thin, milky thigh, running it up and down as Hux takes hold of his cock and presses it against his hole. Kylo swears the air in the room has disappeared and that he can no longer breathe until Hux sinks down onto him, both of them letting out loud sighs and moans.

Hux slowly takes the length inside him, all while Kylo has to strain every muscle in his body to keep from bucking his hips. Once he's all the way inside Hux, Hux places his hands on Kylo's chest to support himself, and gives an experimental thrust, getting used to the feeling of having Kylo inside him.

Soon, Hux picks up a rhythm that has Kylo breathing deeply, trying to keep himself from making embarrassing moans. Occasionally, he moves his hips up to meet Hux's movements, always chasing more pleasure and closeness.

"It's- this is a— ah— very different experience when you have no sight," Hux says breathily, still continuing rocking his hips. "I can't see if you're enjoying this."

Kylo doesn't want to make exaggerated moans just to give Hux feedback. Instead, he reaches out with the force, linking their feelings, and the reception is immediate. There's a tingling pleasure deep in his pelvis where there hadn't been one before.

"Oh," Hux says, jerking his hips sharply.

Kylo smiles, proud he was able to evoke such a reaction, but when Hux renews his efforts and picks up speed, the smirk is quickly washed away.

Kylo shouldn't have made this gone both ways. He's going to come.

His hand flies to Hux's cock, which only makes Hux's movements more jerky and quick. Hux's legs tremble with the effort of so much exertion, and Kylo can already tell the muscles there will be sore when Hux wakes up.

Hux, seemingly uncaring of this fact, keeps going until the rocking of his hips becomes unsteady. Desperate.

"Ah, ah," He moans, gives one more thrust, and comes all over Kylo's hand, all while it feels like a firework has exploded in Kylo's mind as he feels the flood of Hux's release too.

Hux stills in his movements, panting, body flushed pink and sweaty.

Kylo bucks up and forces Hux off of him, turning him over onto his stomach and entering him from behind. It only takes a couple of thrusts before he's jerking his hips into Hux's, coming inside him with a broken moan. He stutters his hips into Hux for a few seconds more and then stills. Only harsh breaths come from them for a moment, then Kylo finally allows his muscles to relax as he pulls out of Hux, falling onto the soft covers below.

Hux himself is still recovering, his body blissed out and tired, boneless. He's a mess but doesn't have the energy to get up and do something about it. His eyes are closing, his body yearning seemingly yearning for the sleep that eluded them both the previous day.

While he lies panting, Kylo would like to say he feels nothing. That he could easily get up, leave to his quarters, take a shower, and fall asleep once he hit the pillow, but he can't. He finds himself infatuated with this new feeling of intense want; of having someone at his side he wants to stay by, of wanting to stay connected. To feel Hux's skin against his. His breathing. His heartbeat. Everything.

Is this just lust at an intensity he's never experienced before? No — it doesn't explain how heavy his limbs feel, and how welcoming Hux's bed is. But what does that leave? Surely not feelings. Like he's a teenaged boy with a _crush_. He isn't supposed to feel such things for anyone, least of all _Hux._

Still, he finds himself absently tracing a nonsensical pattern into the back of Hux's shoulder blade with his finger, as though connecting dots that aren't there. He appreciates the warm, soft skin under his fingertip, and Hux hasn't snapped at him to stop, so he figures he's doing something right.

It's pleasant to just listen to Hux's breathing and air being cycled through the room for a time while he recovers, but eventually, without covers, the cool temperature Hux keeps his quarters at starts to permeate his skin, and goosebumps bloom across his skin.

"We should clean up," Hux says.

Kylo wants to stay in bed forever. Though, he has enough sense to get up and walk to the bathroom, where he grabs a towel and wets it with warm water, then brings it back to the bed. A shower or sonic would be the more sensible option — he's sweaty and covered in other fluids, just like the bed sheets and Hux are — but he doesn't want to break up the understanding that's come between them any further by leaving Hux alone for a time.

He returns to the bedroom only to stare, appreciating the rare sight of Hux's naked back and the round curve of his ass.

"Stop staring."

"I wasn't staring," Kylo lies automatically.

"So you were standing still in the doorway for no reason?" Hux says in the same snappish tone he always uses, but Kylo can sense the amusement beneath.

Kylo snorts and comes back to the bed, first washing Hux's dried come off his abdomen and hand, then tosses the towel onto Hux's back.

He jolts. " _Really_?"

"What?"

Hux grabs the towel and tosses it to the side of himself on the bed, and turns so he's lying on his back. "I know you've never stuck around long enough for this part before with anyone, but this is generally where you help me."

Kylo didn't think Hux would want that, but now that he's (indirectly) asking, Kylo is glad to oblige his request. He crawls back onto the bed, takes the towel in hand, and gently cleans Hux's abdomen. He then moves down to between Hux's legs, feeling a slight surge of arousal at the mess he finds there, but he pushes it out of mind — he's too tired, and Hux is likely too sore to have another go.

Once he's finished, he tosses the towel on the floor and takes perhaps a bit too much glee in seeing Hux's disgruntled face at his carelessness.

And then, there's silence. Kylo suddenly feels like an interloper in Hux's bed.

"You can stay the night," Hux says, as if sensing Kylo's discomfort. "I know your quarters are a bit of a walk away."

"Okay," Kylo agrees, settling back against a pillow. Hux brings the covers up over them, then rolls onto his side, his back facing Kylo, and acts as though he's not even present in the bed. Confused, Kylo reaches out in the force, but he can feel nothing from Hux. He's purposely guarded his thoughts.

Kylo frowns, throwing his head down on the pillow.

Just when he thought he'd found someone to trust and share in, he's shut out. He should've expected this; of course, Hux wasn't just going to welcome him with open arms, or happily start kissing him like they're newlyweds.

That isn't them; that isn't how this works.

He tries to shut the thoughts out, wondering where he could've gone wrong, and finds no steady conclusion. It keeps him awake for a long while, and he only finds himself growing more and more upset until he eventually settles into a restless sleep.

☆

It's dark when he wakes. His eyes feel dry and his head pounds in a minor headache. He's no idea what time it is, or even why he's awake, only that he's cold, and it's still entirely dark in the room. In _Hux's_ room. There's still a sizeable chunk of space between them — Hux is still facing away from Kylo — and Kylo fumes at the thought of it. He almost leaves the bed, upset at waking up to chilled skin and an unresponsive bedmate until he hears a shuddery inhale.

What— surely he isn't—

He hears it again.

In the force, Hux feels not... sad, per se, but there's more like a resounding overload of emotions so strong Kylo can't make sense of them.

"Hux?"

Hux tenses, and there's a rustling noise. "Go back to sleep," Hux says. "It's too early to be up," he says steadily, as if nothing is happening.

Kylo frowns into the darkness for a long while, until he grows too sick of being alone in a bed of two, and shuffles closer to Hux, wrapping a strong arm around him and hugging him close to his body. He expects Hux to fight, to try and squirm out of his grasp, but Hux just accepts him and relaxes in his arms. Instantly the warmth shared between their skin calms Kylo's angered nerves.

"I had another dream about him," Hux says. Kylo knows exactly who he's referring to right away. "I never mourned properly. I didn't let myself focus on it and instead threw myself into work. I wouldn't have gotten to my place as General otherwise, and I don't regret the part his death played in that fact." Hux sighs. "Until now, anyway. I suppose it's finally caught up to me."

Kylo runs his thumb over Hux's arm at a slow pace, wanting the motion to relax the tension he feels in Hux's limbs. "Go back to sleep. We'll lay this to rest for good tomorrow."

Hux says nothing in response, but he remains awake for a while longer until his breathing finally evens out. Kylo finds himself in wonder Hux trusts him enough to fall asleep in his arms.

☆

Hux wakes up warm. Too warm, in fact. So much so that his skin feels tacky with sweat, his blanket clings to him, and where Kylo Ren lies behind him is as hot as a furnace. Yet, somehow he doesn't mind it too terribly. His sheets will be washed by the cleaning droids and he'll have a sonic or a shower — it's nothing worth fretting over. Not when his limbs are (pleasantly) sore and Ren lies at his back.

Hux still finds it difficult to wrap his head around having the most powerful man in the First Order lying in his bed, willing to help Hux take out his enemies. Just weeks ago Hux had been ready to assassinate Kylo just as readily as he was sure Kylo would murder him.

But now, even without his eyesight, there are limitless possibilities on the horizon. They'll be unstoppable together.

And all Hux had to do was sleep with the man. That's not to say it's the sole reason why Hux did so, or even at all why. Ren is attractive. Hux can't say the large body clinging to behind him isn't satisfying. But Ren's charming too. In his own way — and only when he's in a positive mood. It's been flattering to have Ren build a droid for him, heal his wounds, and offer to make him grand marshal.

"Isn't it too early to be scheming?" Ren mutters, startling Hux.

"I'm not scheming," Hux denies, then feels subsequent anxiety bubble up inside at the notion Ren's in his mind again.

"Don't worry, I can't read anything off of you clearly. It's more so... your moods."

"Is that supposed to be reassuring?"

"Yes?"

Hux rolls his eyes. This newfound truce between them is certainly going to take some work. He wiggles to move out of Kylo's space and throws the blankets off himself. He's about to get up when Kylo surprises him by pushing him back down and then connecting their lips.

Instantly, all fight leaves Hux, and he sinks back into the bed and Ren's grip.

He never realized he could miss the feeling of someone's lips on his own so fiercely until he kissed Ren the previous night. And again, he finds himself falling into the feeling of being desired; of being close to someone else.

He never thought he could have this again.

Ren separates a few seconds later, and Hux wants to chase his lips, but Ren stops him by speaking.

"How do you want me to apprehend Vrieska?" Ren asks. His voice is so pleasantly deep. Hux never noticed that before. He almost forgets the question just pondering Ren's physicality.

"Publicly," Hux answers without hesitation once he clears his mind. "He deserves the humiliation and more. It'll set an example to those who dare oppose us as well."

"Good. I'll make the preparations while you go have the shower you've been wanting."

"Thank you," Hux replies, and doesn't even realize he's _thanked_ Ren until he's in the fresher and the door has shut behind him. Hux supposes he can ponder that while searching his drawers for the correct soap he's been trying to find.

☆

Hux regrets he was not present on the bridge for Vrieska's arrest — he wouldn't have been able to see the man's face turn red, or perhaps how it'd contort into pathetic fear, but he could've heard the man's indignant protests or grovelling. That, Hux figures, would be priceless. It'd be enough to leave him satisfied for months.

But he supposes the next best thing is being present for Vrieska's interrogation at Ren's hands. He can always ask Ren about Vrieska's arrest later anyway.

Hux knows Vrieska is awake up when he hears him angrily — or fearfully — tests his bonds with frantic motions. Either way, Hux finds himself smirking.

"Comfortable?" Ren asks snidely.

"You have no right to have me in this chair. I require a trial," Vrieska says. Hux notes that Vreiska's calm demeanour is still present in his voice, but there's an edge of panic too. Hux has never heard _that_ from Vrieska before.

Hux steps out from behind Vrieska, careful to avoid the rack, and comes to stand at Ren's side.

"And by what right do you deserve a fair trial?" Hux asks. "Evander certainly didn't receive one before you murdered him, nor did any of the officers on Onderon when that bomb went off."

" _You_ ," Vrieska hisses. Hux can just hear the curled lip. "I should've known you'd weasel your way back to the top. How'd you do it this time? On your knees?"

"Actually, it was him on his knees." Hux smiles. Beside him, he can hear Ren snort. _This is definitely not going on the recording._

Hux has never wanted his vision back so badly — if only to see Vrieska's shock and fury. He's taken so much from Hux; both his vision and a past lover. It's only appropriate Hux revels in the last few hours of Vrieska's pathetic life.

"Tell us who else helped you with Onderon and this won't have to be painful," Ren says.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Vrieska spits.

"You can admit to your crimes now and spare yourself the humiliation of pissing yourself," Ren states. "Your choice." He then tacks on, "Though I can't say anyone has successfully resisted me before."

Vrieska stays silent.

"Fine." Ren moves closer to Vreiska. It's left to Hux's imagination as to what happens for a minute until Vrieska starts breathing quickly, his limbs tugging against the restraints of the interrogation chair. The stubborn man will soon learn no one is powerful enough to resist Ren. Evidently not even Hux.

Next come the whimpers, which Hux recalls dozens of prisoners doing right before they scream.

Sure enough, Vreiska begins yelling as Ren cracks his mind open.

Not even seconds later it stops.

"I have the names," Ren says above Vrieska's fevered breathing. "There's... a lot. We'll discuss them later."

"Good," Hux states, then turns his head in Vrieska's direction. "Now admit you orchestrated the bombing," Hux commands.

Ren sighs. "He won't admit to it freely. I can tell. I'll force that out too, and it'll only be more painful."

Vrieska is still breathing heavily, trying to fight off the migraine-like effects Hux knows Ren's powers induce, but still, Vrieska says nothing.

Not one minute later, Ren has him screaming again.

"I- I... planned the b-bombing on Onderon!" he yells, the confession forced from his mind and out his mouth.

"And Evander? Admit you murdered him," Hux says.

The air between them sits empty. For a second, Hux thinks Ren may have to use his powers again, but Vrieska finally spits a gob of saliva somewhere — likely at Hux, though he didn't feel it land anywhere on him

"I killed him. And it was worth it just to see your face."

"Why?" Hux asks.

When Vrieska stays silent, Hux takes a step forward. " _Why_?"

Still, nothing. Hux finds himself stepping forward automatically, drawing the knife kept up his sleeve.

"He'll never tell you," Ren says, voice less rough than it has been during this entire session. "You're wasting your time."

Hux sneers. "Then I'll get to the part I've most been looking forward to."

Vrieska doesn't beg for his life while Hux steps up beside him. And he won't ever, not when Hux is behind the trigger — for whatever reason, the man has made it his mission to infuriate and torture Hux, and even in his last moment, Hux knows the man will refuse to grant Hux the satisfaction of hearing him beg.

"Here." An invisible force takes hold of Hux's hand, guiding the knife to where Hux wants it to be. 

Vrieska's throat.

Hux doesn't hesitate to slide it across the vulnerable skin, doesn't flinch when he feels the warm blood land on his face. Doesn't feel much of anything at Vrieska's blood-choked scream.

Hux lets himself revel in the sound of blood hitting the floor.

"He hated you because you were everything he wasn't. He was insecure. Scared you'd reach High Command and turn the Order into something he didn't like," Ren explains. "He killed Evander because he thought that'd ruin you."

"Yes, well, anyone who with the habit of underestimating me winds up dead in the end."

Ren comes up to him and grabs Hux's shoulder, forcing him to face Ren. Next thing he knows, Ren's lips are on his, completely uncaring of the blood on Hux's face as he kisses Hux as if he's a man starved.

Hux is breathless by the time Ren pulls away.

"Remind me to watch my back around you," Ren says, voice low.

"I don't think you'll need to," Hux admits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just so beyond glad this fic is done and posted. It's like a huge weight off my shoulders bc editing it sometimes made me want to tear my hair out lol. I wish I was more happy with it, but tbh I just don't think it's my best work??? Still, I spent so much time on it so I thought it deserves to be edited and posted
> 
> Also, this was the first time I've ever written smut that goes all the way. Hope to god it was decent, as I have little experience writing smut in general!!
> 
> Anyway, enough of me ranting about this damn fic.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 2 should be posted tomorrow, and then chapter 3 the day after that!
> 
> Also please please leave comments! They're basically my only point of reference to know what anyone thinks about my writing. That, and they make me extremely happy!
> 
> Follow me at my Twitter (where I am mostly active) [@bastila_s](https://twitter.com/bastila_s) and my tumblr [bastila-s](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bastila-s)!


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